The Hound and his Bitch
by Bowling4Clegane
Summary: When Maud's attempt to kill the Hound for his brother's crime fails, she thought she'd be executed. Instead, Joffrey decrees a fate worse than death - plaything to the younger Clegane. Can Maud escape, and - more importantly - will she want to? Sandor and OC combine for a Beauty and the beast with a twist. It's GoT so expect violence, language and sex.
1. Captured

Maud shivered as the cold wind bit at her face, pulling her fur closer.

"How much longer?" she whispered to her brothers, crouching beside her on the hill to the side of the muddy path. "The King and his entourage should've been here by now."

Jonython shushed her. "They'll be here. I promise. Just be ready."

Maud made a face at her little brother and looked over at the bow and arrow beside her. Soon. Soon, they would get revenge on the man who killed their father. Well, a relative of the man - but from what people had been saying, he was just as bad. A beast!

"They're coming!" Horace hissed, his face dark with concentration. This had been his plan: to try to get revenge for their father's death. The eldest of the trio, he had been the one who had kept them fed in the Stormlands while they learned to fight.

Maud and Jonython reached for their bows and each nooked an arrow as the king and his men rode into sight. It was dusk, a bit darker than Maud would have liked, but she could still see the outline well enough of the jubilant boy King Joffrey, followed by his kingsguard, and servants hoisting the spoils of the hunt.

"Now!" Horace whispered, his brother and sister instantly letting their arrows fly.

Joffrey yelped in an un-kingly manner as Jonython's arrow flew over his head, while Maud's arrow embedded itself in the helm of Joffrey's man, the Hound.

Maud grunted in frustration and grabbed another arrow to try again.

"Guards!" the boy King snarled, although his white cloaks were already galloping up the hill. Maud and her brothers scrambled to their feet and began to run for their lives. She heard a thump as one of her brothers was ridden down and although it sickened her, she did not have time to turn to see who it was. Instead she kept running, running as fast as she could.

She thought she might have gotten away, until she felt a sudden pain on top of her head and the world went dark.

* * *

Maud awoke to icy water tossed carelessly on her body.

Instinctively she gasped and tried to move, but found herself shackled to a wall.

"About time," a grim-looking white cloak sneered. "Time for you and your brother to face your reckoning."

Despite knowing that she may die when she hatched the plan with her brothers, Maud's heart began to race as her captor manhandled her out of the shackles, before snapping a pair of manacles in place, and attaching a metal collar with a chain around her neck.

"C'mon, bitch," the guard spat, pulling the chain so that Maud had to almost run behind him. She desperately looked around for her brother, not knowing which was still alive.

It seemed like hours later that she was finally pulled into the throne room, and breathed a quiet sigh of relief. It had been years, not since under the mad King's rule, that someone was executed here. She may have one more night on this earth at least - and an opportunity to end her own life if the punishment was to be gruesome.

The guard, who Maud now realised was Ser Trant, forced her to her knees, to stare at the boy king who sat proudly on the throne, a crossbow lazily dangling from one hand. Out of the corner of her eye (although her captor would not let her turn her head properly), she could make out Jonython's brown curly hair. Her baby brother, he was ages with the King himself. _He should be at home, learning how to work and falling in love, not about to die,_ Maud thought.

"I always hate when my subjects are unhappy," Joffrey sneered. "Luckily, my dog put an end to your cohort."

"You bastard," Jonython yelled, struggling against the man holding him. Maud stayed quiet but her heart throbbed at the loss of Horace. _We will join you soon, dear brother_ , she promised.

The boy King smirked and turned to the Hound, standing beside the throne. "What do you think, dog? Is beheading too good for them? I heard the mad king used to burn people alive. I've never seen that. Shall we see how long they scream before they die?"

Maud shuddered at this horrific thought. Surprisingly, she thought the Hound seemed to flinch too.

"Please, my Lord," she begged. "Spare my brother."

Joffrey leaned forward in his throne, the tip of the crossbow gently clanging off the iron throne.

"And why should I do that? Regicide, and attended regicide, is punishable by death. It's my _right."_

"We weren't aiming for you," Jonython yelped. "We were aiming for _him._ " He stabbed his manacled hands in the direction of the Hound. "That beast's brother killed our father."

The Hound guffawed. "Gregor killed your father? That's none of my bloody business. I'm not his keeper."

"Please," Maud pleaded. "My brother didn't hit anyone. It was my arrow that hit him."

Both the king and his man turned to look at Maud, as if surprised by this news. The Hound's dark eyes seemed to bore into her soul and Maud forced herself to look back at him before turning to the King.

A cruel smile played on Joffrey's face for a moment before he spoke, wetting his lips.

"Very well. If your brother didn't hit the target it seems he needs shooting lessons. I shall help him out."

Before Maud could make sense of the words, Joffrey raised his crossbow and fired directly at her brother's face. She screamed as he hit the floor, his dead eyes staring up at her as blood pooled on the ground.

"Now, you on the other hand," Joffrey said, reloading his bow. Maud dug her nails into the palm of her hands, telling herself not to be sick. "You owe my dog an apology."

"S-sorry," Maud choked out, not taking her eyes off the crossbow.

"Not good enough!" Joffrey yelled, his voice bouncing off the walls.

"I'm sorry, Ser Clegane," Maud said louder, venom in her eyes.

Joffrey paused before another vicious smile graced his otherwise good looking face.

"I do believe I know the perfect way you can make it up to us. Dog, how would you like a bitch?"

Both Maud and the Hound stared at the blond king.

"My mother would have you killed if she wasn't away visiting my grandfather. But I am a benevolent King. As your apology for hitting him with an arrow, you will give yourself to the Hound. You'll be his slave and his whore. And if you misbehave, or try to run away, I'll chain you up in the kennels and let all the men and dogs in Kings Landing have their way with you."

"Please…" Maud whispered, "Just kill me."

Joffrey smirked. "Hound, take your bitch out of my sight. I want her trained. I want her broken in. And I don't care how you do it."

Maud began to openly weep as the tall man, at least five years her elder, stomped towards her. Grabbing the chain dangling from her collar, he pulled her to her feet and out of the throne room, paying no heed to her cries or pleadings.


	2. I'm no Ser

Maud's neck was aching by the time her captor pulled up short at a door.

Opening it, he roughly shoved Maud into the room.

She gasped for air, falling to her knees. From this position she quickly glanced around the room, looking for something, anything, to help her escape. It was pitch black in the room, clearly late in the night.

"There's no point," the Hound growled, sounding resigned as he lit two candles. "You can't escape."

"Damned if I stay here as your whore!" Maud spat standing up suddenly and smacking the tall man in the mouth with her manacles. "You and your brother are murdering scum!"

To her surprise, the man chuckled as he spat a glob of blood from his new wound, looking at Maud with what oddly seemed like respect.

"Aye, we've both killed. And you tried to kill me, so seems you're just as bad. But I'm a damned sight better than some men in this city so keep your mouth shut if you don't want that arse of yours used more than one of Littlefinger's whores."

Maud flushed. Despite being 21, she was still a virgin. The man she was promised to had died seven years ago alongside her father and her brothers had cared more about revenge than arranging a suitable match.

The sudden look on her face, reflected by the flickering candles, led to a twinge in the Hound's groin and for a second he imagined her face blushing as he pounded her. He had had a fair amount of women in his time, but most were paid for, and the majority demanded he took them from behind. But this girl was his. Never before had he had a women ride him, staring down at his face…

"Right," he said gruffly, trying to subtly adjust his cloak. "What should I call you? The alternative is 'bitch'," he warned, as she looked like she was not going to respond.

"Maud," she sighed.

"Maud it is. You can sleep on the floor, or in the bed. I honestly don't care which. I'm fucking tired, and if you try to kill me, I will fuck you bloody."

"The bed, please," Maud whispered, staring longingly at the straw mattress. It had been months since she had slept in a bed.

Her captor grunted and dragged her to the bed, tying the end of the collar's chain to the bedpost. She instantly curled up in a ball, trying to comfort herself against the horrors of the day and losing her two brothers.

However, she snapped back when she felt a weight on the other side of the bed and a now only partially dressed Hound slide under the covers.

"What?" he growled, taking a deep gulp from a skin of wine, "You thought you had the bed to yourself? Piss to that. I'm more of a gentleman than my brother but I'm not a fucking Sparrow. Now shut up."

Maud turned her head back and began to weep again as quietly as she could, under the noise of her captor's snores. She was now the plaything of the family that killed her father, and there seemed to be no way out.

* * *

Maud must have fallen asleep at some point during the night, for she woke up with a severe crick in her neck.

"Jonython," she whispered instinctively, elbowing the warm mound beside her. The clink of a chain brought it all back to her, a reminder the shape next to her wasn't her young brother seeking warmth but a killer.

He was still asleep and she took this opportunity to study him. The scarred, pitted mess of his face made her shudder, then she flicked her eyes over the rest of him. Under his armour he was well built, and she did not fancy her chances in a fight. Maybe, she could persuade him to kill her. It would be better than being his whore.

With this thought, she instinctively glanced downward and saw that his member was erect. She had brothers, she knew it was natural for it to rise in the morning, but being so close, and in the same bed, made Maud nervous.

A deep chuckle brought her back to reality and she saw the Hound looking at her through slitted eyelids. "I can give you a proper introduction if you like."

Maud could feel her face flush, and an unwelcome feeling flitted in the pit of her stomach as her brain thought just for one second about the powerful body beside her. Just as quickly the feeling left and she felt ashamed. It was because of this man her brothers were dead.

Her captor shrugged, standing up in his underthings.

"I'm going to get breakfast. If you promise to be good, I'll take off your collar."

"I promise," Maud said reluctantly. The chaffing of the metal against her skin was unbearable.

The Hound lurched over her, producing a key. His foul morning breath made her cringe as he undid the padlock. Maud held her manacled hands up hopefully.

A booming laugh surprised her. "I wasn't born fucking yesterday. Now behave yourself or I'll leather you."

"Yes ser," she whispered, hating herself.

He huffed loudly. "I'm no ser. Clegane. Call me Clegane."

With that, he left the room, locking the door behind him.

Instantly, Maud crawled from the bed and relieved herself in the chamberpot, before looking around the room.

There had to be a way to escape. The window was too narrow, but there could be a spare key for the door, or maybe a hidden panel? Don't all castles have secret tunnels?

The manacles made it difficult but Maud searched the room as quickly and thoroughly as she could, throwing items to the side and accidentally tipping the skin of wine over. She was so enthralled at the task at hand that she didn't hear the door open behind her.

"What the fuck do you think you're doing?" a voice growled.

Maud whimpered as she was thrown across the room. _No, no, please no_ , she thought as the giant of a man forced her to bend over the side of the bed, his large hand roughly pulling her dress and underskirt around her waist.

She could hear him fumble with his belt with his right hand, while his left held her face down.

"I'm sorry, please," she sobbed into the mattress, struggling against the larger man's weight.

Her sobs turned into a scream as a searing pain hit her bare behind. She turned her head in time to see the Hound raise his arm again, the leather of his belt curling before slamming down again and again as Maud tried to wriggle away.

With each smack she screamed, so loudly that Joffrey heard in his quarters and touched himself to the sound of pain, and little Sansa Stark cried and prayed to the seven that she would never be in as much pain as whoever was making the noise.

The Hound stopped after 10 lashes, admiring his handiwork. Hesitantly, he placed his hand on the heated red skin, enjoying the comparison of the white handprint for a second when he removed his grip.

Maud's screams changed to quiet whimpers as she attempted to pull her skirts down and cover herself, but her captor stopped her. The sight of her like this, exposed, completely at his whim, turned him on more than he cared to admit.

 _You could take her right now. Slam yourself into_ _her._ The thought rung in his ear like his brother's voice, making him release his grip. That wasn't him. He wasn't a rapist.

"Stand up," he managed to grunt.

Maud obeyed quickly, wiping her face. She was disgusted to notice he was erect. The sick bastard.

"Don't you ever disobey me again, or you'll go back to Joffrey," Clegane warned. "Now tidy yourself up, and eat your breakfast." He gestured towards the table where two plates of food were waiting.

Maud did as he said, shaking. _I will kill you,_ she vowed.


	3. Plots

A month passed without any major incident, thank the Seven, and Maud and the Hound began to form a routine.

Maud woke up first every morning. If she was feeling brave, she would look over at her bedmate's scarred and twisted face, and wonder how the injury occurred. In a great battle she was sure. Her favourite theory was that he was mauled by a bear and it was bleeding so much they had to cauterise the whole side of his face. Maud had asked, on her first week, what happened, and regretted it. " _Never_ ask me that again," he had growled, grabbing her by the shoulders. "Or I'll do the same to you. And trust me, you won't fucking like it one bit." Since then, Maud would only stare at his face when he was sleeping.

When she was ready, she would sneak out of bed, occasionally having to move the Hound's arm if it ended up slung over her during the night. Quietly, with the Hound's snores as background noise, she would wash in yesterday's water and pull on her clothes. So far, apart from her lashes, her captor had never seen her without her clothes on - Maud wanted to keep it that way.

Once fully dressed, Maud would plait her hair or wind it into a bun, before starting to clean the room. This was a daily task, as the Hound had a tendency to just throw things down when he was done with them - his swordbelt, his skin of wine, his armour. He particularly didn't seem to care for his new white cloak. In fact, the only thing that he did take care of was his sword, which he polished every evening before locking it up - usually with a dirty look at Maud. She had a sneaking suspicion that before she was forced on him, he had slept beside his sword.

After two weeks of good behaviour, her captor allowed her out of the room in the morning, to fetch breakfast. She had to taste test the Hound's food, in case she had poisoned it. After they ate, he would return the plates - but not before locking Maud into the room.

She was, she thought, a very poor slave. Apart from cleaning up, bringing food, cleaning the chamberpot (her least favourite task), and occasionally darning holes, she spent the day reading books he brought her. Once, out of sheer boredom, she asked to polish his armour, but his scowl was so large she never asked again.

It was, overall, a comfortable routine. Except for two things.

The first, which the Hound didn't know: Maud had discovered a slow acting poison in one of the books she had been lent and was planning to use it on her captor next week during the hubbub of Joffrey's latest melee.

The second, which neither knew: the Mountain would be attending the melee.

* * *

The day of the melee began like any other - Maud washed and dressed and tidied, steely in determination. She felt as if her brothers were beside her. It was the Hound's fault they died, and his brother's fault that her father died. It hadn't even been a battle: the Mountain and his men were just drunk. When the local Stormland inn ran out of ale, the men took it out on locals - mutilating then and leaving their bodies on spikes for their relatives to find. Hence the plan. Kill the Hound, and the Mountain would mourn. Maud and her brothers thought they'd never stand a chance of killing the giant beast, so Horace had come up with the plan to kill his brother instead. "Make HIM feel what it is like to lose a loved one," became the battlecry.

Slipping down to the kitchen, narrowly avoiding crashing into a messenger grasping a piece of parchment, she stopped in a dark passageway and double-checked everything was set. A hidden pocket she had sewn into the hem of her dress held two small vials she had bribed a servant to steal from Grand Maester Pycelle one day (luckily the Hound hadn't noticed a few missing coins). One held a clear poisonous liquid, the other, a light purple antidote. Maud should be able to taste test the Hound's food and seem fine. As long as she took the antidote before sundown, she would live - maybe just suffering mild sickness.

To ensure the Hound ate the food as quickly as possible, Maud had requested chicken thighs, as well as his usual eggs and bacon. She copiously poured every drop of the liquid into the chicken. The meat was so hot the poison melted in - perfect.

Breathing a sigh in preparation, Maud opened the door - to see the Hound hopping on one leg, pulling his boots on.

"Where the fuck have you been?" he said, although from her hands it was fairly obvious. "Get that food wrapped, we're going for a ride."

Maud's mind went wild. She wanted to scream 'how the fuck do you expect me to wrap fried eggs?'. She wanted to double check the book to see what waiting did to the potency of the poison. But one thought took priority.

"WE'RE going?"

"Oh, are you deaf as well as being a fucking idiot? Yes, you're coming with me for the day. Go to the kitchen, wrap that up and meet me in the stables as soon as you're done. I'll wait for you there."

Maud left, half annoyed and half excited to be able to be able to go outside.

As she left she didn't notice the Hound crumple up a piece of parchment or take a deep drink from his skin of wine.

* * *

After being pointed in the direction of the stables by a friendly servant ("down to the right, just past the kennels."), Maud found herself enjoying the short walk. She'd never realised how much she'd taken fresh air and the outside world for granted.

She reached the stables, swinging her canvas sack of now-wrapped breakfast foods, and was instantly drawn to a beautiful black horse. Sleek, with a daring look in his big brown eyes, Maud instantly knew this must be the Hound's horse.

"Well, at least he has beautiful taste in animals," she cooed, reaching out to stroke his mane - then jumping back as the horse tried to bite her wrist. "Seven _hells_ \- you're just as bad as each other!"

Taking another step back, she bumped into something solid, yet warm. She turned around, expecting to see her captor scowling at her, but something seemed different. Time almost seemed to slow down as the words boomed. "That's no way for a whore to talk."

 _The Mountain._

Maud found herself unable to speak, and dropped her canvas sack as the huge beast grabbed her by her plait and dragged her out the stables, muttering "I'll show you how a bitch should be treated."


	4. Enemy of my Enemy

Author's note: please note, this chapter contains violence, sexual violence and strong language. Or, to sum it up - it contains the Mountain.

* * *

The day of the melee began as usual for the Hound. He watched the slave girl he did not want get dressed through the slits of his eyes, pretending to sleep still. As soon as she left the room to fetch breakfast from the kitchen, his hand travelled down to his cock.

Joffery is a cunt, he thought, not for the first time. Would have been simpler just to kill the girl, or send her to Littlefinger. But no, as well as acting as a fucking guard dog for a whiny little brat, he now had someone in his room constantly.

The company could be worse, he admitted to himself, slowly stroking himself to the memory of Maud's tits, of how her body sometimes, instinctively, cuddled up to him for warmth during the night. One time, her round arse pressed against him during the night, and she let out a contented sigh of comfort that made his cock twitch. He imagined fondling the globes of flesh, of rubbing his hands over her body, of thrusting into her so she made that sigh again.

Technically, he could take her. He didn't see her falling into bed with him willingly, not after his actions the first morning. It had seemed a good idea at the time, to whip her, to teach her to obey, or else Joffery would have her naked on the street for all the men of King's Landing to take. But now he was just the Hound to her. A ruthless killer. And she was there _all the fucking time_. He missed peace - being able to have a wank when he wanted. Being able to smash things.

Enjoying his last moments of quiet before she would return, the Hound continued to stroke himself, spitting into his hand to provide some lubricant. He imagined her straddling him, sinking onto his cock, staring down at him with a face full of lust. He let out a deep moan and sped up his motions.

He was just moments away from climax when there was a knock on the door.

"Ser? Raven for you. It's, er, from your brother, ser."

That was never good. Gregor detested writing. If there was a message, it had to be serious.

Cursing everyone and everything, the Hound threw back the covers and walked over to the door, opening it just wide enough to snatch the parchment out the man's hands, before slamming it shut.

He sat on a chair and unrolled the message. Gregor was coming to today's melee - annoying but unavoidable. Not worth a raven. Then he froze.

 _Met one of Littlefinger's men in a tavern last night. He said that Joffery had given you a whore, as punishment for some slight of hers. I look forward to seeing her broken in, and taking a ride myself._

Fuck. Gregor would take one look at Maud and know she wasn't broken. Although she tried to act like she was resigned to her fate, he knew she was up to something. He'd overheard her whispering to a servant one morning, and a few coins were missing. Maybe he'd been too cocky, leaving her to her schemes. She was locked up during the day, he never left sharp objects around her - there was nothing she could do left with her musty little books.

Knocking over his dog's head helm in his rush, the Hound leapt to his feet and began to dress as fast as he could. He was pulling on his boots when Maud came through the door holding breakfast.

"Where the fuck have you been? Get that food wrapped, we're going for a ride."

"WE'RE going?" came the incredulous reply.

"Oh, are you deaf as well as being a fucking idiot? Yes, you're coming with me for the day. Go to the kitchen, wrap that up and meet me in the stables as soon as you're done. I'll wait for you there," he growled.

The sooner he got her away from the castle, the better. His brother had the attention span of a gnat. He'd spend the day pounding knights bloody in the melee, get drunk and forget all about Maud. Until then, unless the Hound fancied burning Maud's body, out of sight meant out of mind.

* * *

Once dressed, the Hound went to remove his name from the melee's tourney lists. No doubt there would be rumours about why he wasn't appearing, and Joffery would make some remark later, but everyone be damned.

At the stables, he was surprised not to see Maud there yet. Bitch must be taking her time. He kicked a bag on the floor out of the way and moved towards the wall to pick up his saddle.

He cursed under his breath as he began to saddle Stranger, letting the big horse nuzzle him gently. He was the only one the horse could stand: one groom famously lost an eye trying to get a stone out of a horseshoe.

Crooning to the horse, and ignoring the barking of the nearby dogs, the Hound stroked his soft mane as he waited for Maud - until he heard a shrill scream coming from the kennels.

Seven hells, he thought, hand on his sword as he headed in the direction of the sound.

* * *

Maud screamed as the Mountain dragged her into the kennels by her hair and threw her onto the ground. She kicked him firmly in the shin in hope of disbalancing him, but it had no effect except to hurt her foot.

He slapped her hard across her face for this, and she tasted blood. The whole left side of her face stung, almost as bad as the lashes the Hound had given her. The giant then proceeded to kick her in the stomach, making her wretch and gasp for air.

"My little brother has had a month and he hasn't broken you in? I'll fucking do it in an hour," the giant growled, grabbing her arm and pulling her along the straw lined floor of the kennels, as the dogs barked in warning.

She was going to be killed like her father. Head smashed open, body left mangled and impaled on a pole. Maud sobbed as she tried to pull away, only to have her body wretched along the floor. She felt her elbow dislocate with a sickening noise.

The Mountain leaned down and ripped the dress off her back, the fabric tearing easily in one motion of his giant hands.

 _Oh, Mother, Maiden and Crone,_ Maud prayed. _Grant me mercy. Save me._

Her prayers went unanswered as the Mountain forced her down. She screamed in horror as she realised it was a breeding stand. She remembered when she was a child, seeing a bitch tied up to allow the larger male access. At the time she thought it was cruel, and had caused the dog owners to laugh when she suggested if the dogs really loved each other, they wouldn't need to be tied.

Maud struggled as hard as she could as the large man tied her to the table with the leather straps, but with her dislocated arm and his 7 foot size, was as helpless as a fly struggling against a hurricane. Now only her thin underclothes protected her from the Mountain. Out the corner of her eye, she could see him prepare himself.

It was the first time she'd seen an erect cock before. She's seen her brother's before, of course, when they were taking a piss or bathing in a river, but nothing like this. The size make her tremble - how could that possibly fit inside a person?

There would be no mercy, Maud realised with horror. _I pray for death. I pray to the Stranger. Come for me. I'm ready for your embrace._

Closing her eyes and digging her fingernails into the wood of the stand, Maud prepared herself as best she could for the expected onslaught.

Instead, she heard a voice. "What the fuck do you think you're doing?"

Maud's heart fluttered as she turned her head as far as she could, and made out the Hound striding towards them across the kennels.

"I heard tell you were supposed to break this bitch. Break her, or she belongs to everyone, I was told. Well, you couldn't do the job, little brother, so I'm doing it for you. I'll break her and leave her here. After a week of being used by anyone who wants her, I'm sure she'll be happy to do whatever you ask," the Mountain sneered, buttoning his trousers back up.

"Joffrey gave her to me. Cleganes don't share, remember? I've a constant fucking reminder of that," the Hound spat, gesturing to his disfigured face. Maud's eyes grew wide. It couldn't have been the Mountain that burned his face? Who could do that to their brother?

"I'm not sharing, boy. I'm helping you. Fuck off and joust in your fancy dog costume like Joffery's jester. By the time you're done, your whore will be so broken in that she'll willingly lay with you at night. How long has it been since someone has actually wanted to look at that face?"

"Oh, _fuck_ off," the younger Clegane scoffed. "Maud is mine. You took Elana from me. Joffery gave me Maud. This isn't the tossing Iron Isles. This is your bloody King's order."

He bent over, keeping his eyes firmly on his brother, and unbuckled Maud from the restraints. She would have slid onto the floor, had the Hound not caught her.

The exchange was interrupted by a harassed looking servant dashing into the kennels. "Thank the Seven. Ser Gregor, Joffrey has requested your presence at the tourney."

The servant took a confused look around the room, missing the death glare the Mountain was sending in his direction.

"We're not done, Sandor," the Mountain growled, pointing an arm as thick as a tree trunk. He stormed out, the servant giving a nervous backwards glance before scurrying after the giant of a man.

The Hound turned to Maud urgently, taking in her bleeding face and the way her arm hung.

"I prayed to the Stranger," she whispered. "I prayed for death, and you saved me."

She reached up, as if to touch his face. Before she could reach, dark spots began to cloud her vision and she sank into unconsciousness.


	5. The Truth

Maud opened her eyes slowly and winced in pain. Her stomach felt as if a huge stone weight was placed on it.

"You're awake," a voice Maud didn't recognise drawled. She turned her head slowly to look at the man. Bald, and somewhat round underneath his robes, he was sitting ramrod straight in a chair bedside the bed.

"Here, have some water," he said, passing her a glass.

Maud drank thirstily, choking a little as the liquid stung the cut in her lip. The liquid was surprisingly bitter. "Are - are you a Maester?" she asked between coughs.

"Nothing of the sort, I'm afraid. I'm just a friend," the man retorted. "How do you feel?"

"Terrible," Maud replied. "My stomach hurts, my face stings and my arm feels like it's on fire."

"Ah," the man said. "A poor choice of words to use in Sandor Clegane's bedchamber. May I recommend avoiding the subjects of body parts on fire around him?"

"He can be touchy," Maud agreed, then stopped short. "Wait. Why did I say that? I didn't mean to say that."

"Ah." The man said again. "I'm afraid I have some rather bad news, my dear. Ser Gregor told the King that you are not, in fact, an obedience slave. He has offered to take you back to Harrenhal with him. Joffrey has demanded that when you awoke you were taken to him so he can decide one way or another."

"I don't want to go with the Mountain," Maud said, the words slipping out her mouth as soon as the thought came to her head.

The man gave her a pointed look and raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, yes, I know. Ah," Maud muttered. "Why am I saying what I'm thinking?"

"That would be the truth potion. Joffrey is hardly going to trust the word of a slave girl who admitted she was trying to kill his man, is he? No, Cersei or Pycelle will no doubt demand a potion. And I thought I'd check for myself just what the truth was."

"So, there is no hope," Maud said. "Unless I take my own life, I will be given to the Mountain."

"I do have a potential solution I would like to test out," the bald man said, fishing a small bottle out of his pocket. Peculiarly, the bottle contained what seems to be small, jelly-like beads - almost like tiny frogspawn. "Eat this."

Wincing as she leaned over, Maud took one of the small jellies from him and popped it in her mouth, biting down gently.

A minute passed as the two stared at each other.

"What is it supposed to do?" Maud asked.

"Tell me, child," the man moved closer, "When was your last monthly bleed?"

Maud gasped. "I'm not telling you that! What sort of-" She stopped. "Wait. I didn't tell you. I thought it, but I didn't tell you."

The man smiled, slightly smugly. "Indeed. The antidote to the truth potion the Grand Maester plans to use on you. You have to take it within five minutes of taking the potion, and it cannot be taken beforehand, more's the pity. But hide one of these between your teeth and your gums, and you can bite down without anyone seeing, and spin whatever tale your heart desires."

"Why are you helping me?" Maud asked, suspiciously. "Are you a friend of the Hound?"

"I'm a friend of the realm," he responded, standing up and pulling his robes around him. "And I believe you can do more good here than rotting in Harrenhal. You'll need to think of a story. How you are treated. How you were broken. Can you do that?"

Maud nodded, but her head felt very heavy and her eyes began to close.

"Good. I'll leave you two jellies, here by the bed. When they come to get you, put one behind your teeth. Remember that."

Before he'd even left the room, Maud was sound asleep.

* * *

She would have thought the whole visit was not a dream if not for the two bead-like jellies lying on the bedside table when she woke to the sound of clanking armour near the door.

Maud propped herself up on an elbow, expecting the Hound, but was instead faced by Ser Trant.

"Get dressed," he said, flinging her one remaining dress at the bed. "The King wishes to see you."

Maud swallowed, reaching for the dress. Her mind raced as she thought of options. Running would be useless - she'd never be able to outrun him, even in armour, with her bruised stomach. There was nothing sharp to hit him with, and even if she did, her arm was too painful to lift with both hands. Her best option was to play along - for now.

Pulling the dress on, she waited until Trant's head was turned and popped the jellies in her mouth, using her tongue to give then a safe home beside her gum.

Once dressed, Trant marched her down to the throne room.

Smug in gold and red, Joffrey sat on the Iron Throne, his mother to his right. Surrounding them was various members of the small council, as well as the Hound, standing stony-faced to the left of the King.

He looked at Maud in surprise - then with a dark look over to his brother, standing on the other side of the throne behind Queen Cersei.

"I've been hearing terrible stories about you," the boy King said. "Ser Gregor here has told me that he caught you wandering around the stables, by yourself. That you were disobeying direct orders from your master - his brother - and that you were trying to escape. If he hadn't caught you, you'd be halfway to the North on my Hound's horse."

"Poppycock," the Hound grumbled, to everyone's surprise. "I'd asked the girl to bring me my breakfast in the stables. When I got there, she was next door, being...punished by him."

Cersei gave a sour look at the younger Clegane. "It appears we have two different stories. How do we discover the truth?"

"I have a solution," the old Grand Maester moved forward, "A truth potion should get to the bottom of the matter, sufficiently, your Grace."

"Very well," Joffrey said. "Make her drink it."

Maud took the bottle out of the old man's paper thin hands and drunk the contents, pulling a face at the bitterness. She used this as an excuse to bite down on one of the small jellies, letting the liquid trick down her throat.

"There's no fucking point in this," the Hound said, casting a slightly nervous look in Maud's direction. "She does what she is told. She fetches my breakfast, she cleans, she lays with me at night."

"That sounds like a wife, rather than a slave," Cersei said dryly, making the small council laugh.

"Let us ask the girl how her days go," a drawling voice said, and Maud suddenly noticed the bald man, mostly hidden on the platform by the Mountain. "My dear, do you feel like a wife?"

"No," Maud said, "I feel like a slave. I'm ashamed. I-I wish I had never come to King's Landing."

Joffrey leaned forward. "What does he make you do?"

 _Lie._ She had to come up with something that was bad enough that they would decide it was enough punishment. Maud thought back to her worst fears from her first week with the Hound. She had to lie to save herself - but how would the Hound react?

"Your Grace...it's horrible. He treats me like a dog. He makes me lick his boots. Sometimes he orders me to strip, and clean the room naked, on all fours. And at night…"

"Yes?" Joffrey said, a twisted grin on his lips. He glanced at the Hound, who was staring at the middle distance, gripping his sword.

 _I'm sorry_ , Maud tried to send telepathically to him, before continuing her story. "At night I do whatever he asks, whatever way. I'm his whore. Mostly he bends me over a table, forces himself into me. Sometimes he demands I bark like a dog. If I don't, or don't get him hard quickly enough, he hits me with his belt."

The Hound's hand gripped the hilt of his sword so hard it turned white.

Joffrey remembered the screams he heard the morning after he gifted the girl. "Does he hit you often?"

"Once a week, if the bitch behaves," the Hound cut in. "But more if not." His eyes met Maud's, but she couldn't tell what he was thinking.

Joffrey leaned back as far as the throne would allow. "Up it to a minimum of two lashings a week, and you may keep her," he said, satisfied. "Don't spoil her. I want to be able to hear it."

Cersei tutted at her son. "Yes, I think we've _heard_ quite enough. Ser Trant, take her back to her room."

"Bitch," the Hound's voice echoed across the hall. "I'd better find you naked on all fours when I arrive."

Maud tried to look back at the man as she left, but Trant forced her out the room. He wasn't serious, was he?

* * *

It was a good three hours later before the Hound arrived back to his room, and he'd spent every one of them drinking. He wasn't hurt by what Maud had said - he was a fucking killer. He didn't give a piss what some girl said. But everyone believed so easily. There was no-one who thought he wouldn't make a woman strip and literally lick his boots. What sort of fucking person would do that.

He expected to see Maud asleep when he got in, or sitting ready to defend herself.

Instead, as he opened the door, she pulled her flimsy white underdress off and crawled onto the bed.

"The fuck you doing?" he snorted. "Get your fucking clothes on."

"I didn't know if you meant it," she whispered, reaching for her underdress.

"Of course I didn't fucking mean it," he scowled. "I was taking your lead, you stupid cunt."

He couldn't stop his eyes from flicking over her body. He would have been tempted, very tempted, was it not for what happened the day before. Hells, if that hadn't happened, and he'd walked in to find that round arse presented to him, he may not have been able to stop himself. But the evidence of the day was there in mottled blue-purple, all over her body.

"Why didn't the truth potion work?" he asked, as Maud pulled the thin dress over her head.

"It would have. But I'd been given an antidote beforehand. The bald man," she admitted. He nodded slowly, undoing the shoulder strap of his armour. The Spider. Well, that was interesting.

Muad walked over to him and began to help undoing the other strap, as well as she could with one hand. "I want to thank you," she said softly. "You saved my life. You stood up to the Moun- I mean, to your brother, and you backed my story. I don't deserve that. You could have let him take me."

"I wouldn't let him take you," he muttered, pulling his boots off.

She surprised herself by leaning over and giving him the smallest of kisses on his scarred cheek. His breath was warm and wine-smelling against her face. "You're not like him. You're not a monster," she whispered, half to herself, as she walked to the bed and slid between the sheets.

The Hound sat still, touching the spot Maud had kissed. _I'm not a monster,_ he repeated.


	6. In the bathhouse

_Sorry for the delay in this chapter! Maud and the Hound begin to get closer..._

The Hound watched with half-closed eyes as Maud washed in the basin of water.

"By the Seven, I wish there was some warm water," she muttered as rinsed the sponge and dabbed her underarms.

"You could visit the bathhouse?" he offered.

Maud covered her breasts as she whipped around. " _What?!_ There's a bathhouse? Then why do you wash in here each day?"

The Hound sat up and shrugged. "Who's going to complain how I smell? If they did, I'd just kill them," he said.

Maud quirked an eyebrow. Was that a joke?

"Well, I wouldn't mind a bath. Could I go?"

The Hound grunted. "Not now, it'll be full of handmaidens. But if you really want a bath, I'll take you tonight."

Maud nodded frantically.

"Fine," he muttered. "Just stay put and don't do anything stupid until then."

* * *

"Leave her face. I like her pretty." Joffrey smirked.

The Hound looked away as Trant hit the young Stark girl in the stomach, then smacked her in the back of the leg, causing her to fall.

"Meryn, my lady is overdressed. Unburden her."

The knight grinned as he ripped the back of the redhead's dress open, causing her to grasp at the front. The Hound felt sick as the little bird he sobbed loudly and Joffrey gloated some more.

"What is the meaning of this? What kind of knight beats a helpless girl?" Tyrion said, waddling into the room, his sellsword close up his arse as usual.

"Someone get the girl something to cover herself with," the new Hand of the King said. The Hound ripped his stupid white cloak off and wrapped it round the crying Stark girl.

"She is to be your queen. Have you no regard for her honour?" Tyrion chided the blond King.

* * *

"Hound, I need you to stand watch over my nephew's door this evening until he arrives," the dwarf said, out of breath from trying to catch up with the taller man.

The Hound huffed. Seemed like Maud's bath would have to wait a bit.

"I've got a very special present for him," Tyrion continued, gesturing to two prostitutes following him. "A nameday present, if you will."

"Fine," the tall man sighed, eyeing up the whores. It had been ages since he'd had anyone: if he went to Littlefinger's he'd ask why he wasn't just using his personal slave.

The two whores giggled and frollicked behind him as he stomped to the King's chamber.

"I've not seen you in a while, Ser Hound," the redhead (Rose? Ros? He couldn't remember) said conversationally. "You must be getting lonely."

"Got a girl," he grunted, opening the door and letting the two inside.

"Lucky girl," the redhead twinkled. "But if you get tired of the one girl, I'm happy to lend a hand…" She gently swiped the palm of her hand over his groin, and he batted her away.

"Think you'll have enough on your hands tonight," the Hound replied. He wanted to toss the girl a coin and have her on her Northern knees, but the risks were too high.

He went back to his role of guard dog, and luckily it wasn't long before the spoiled blond cunt arrived.

"What are you doing here, dog?"

The Hound hated being called _dog_. "Your uncle left your nameday present and asked me to see that you got it."

"And? What is it?" the boy asked, curiosity piqued.

"Look inside, Your Grace," his lips twitched up in a smile. Maybe a good ride was just what the brat needed to stop him picking on the little bird. Seven knew that he always felt better.

As the Hound heard the whores giggle an introduction, he took his leave.

Now for his other guard dog duties.

* * *

They arrived at the bathhouse after midnight, but the Hound was still relieved to find it empty - oftentimes a member of the Kingsguard could be found seeking solitude and relaxation in the hot water.

"In," he grunted to Maud, who slipped past him, before he closed the door to stand guard. It was just a week since the attack, and although her bruises were beginning to fade, they were still noticeable, and he was sure Maud would not be keen for people to gawk at her. As someone used to gawkers, he understood.

Once inside the room, Maud breathed deeply, enjoying the scent of the warm water. Placing her soap and towel nearby, she shed her hooded cloak, followed by her dress and underthings.

Dipping her first toe into the water was a heavenly experience. Seldom had Maud seen a bathhouse like this (she was more used to battered tin baths or local rivers) and after over a month of just using a basin of day-old water to wash, there was no comparison.

The contented sigh she immersed herself into the heat, before kneeling down so that even her hair was submerged.

The Hound's mouth twitched slightly upwards hearing the sigh of happiness, before a cry of pain put him back on alert. Flinging the door open, he expected to see an intruder, and instead saw Maud wincing as she flung her sponge across the room.

"The fuck is wrong now?" he grumbled.

"My stupid arm. I can't wash my hair," Maud huffed. She blushed slightly, looking up at the man with a hopeful smile. "Could you...help?"

The Hound sighed as he stormed over to pick up the sponge. Picking it up, he turned on his heel, only to slip and slide right into the bath.

Spluttering, he emerged to hear Maud's laugh bouncing off the walls. "I fucking hate baths," he growled, shaking his hair like a wet dog. He glared at Maud until her laughs subsided.

"Sorry. Sorry. You just looked so funny," Maud grinned.

The Hound snorted and pulled his tunic over his head. "Just pass the bloody soap." He waded over and sat on the step above Maud. Grabbing the soup, he began to roughly rub it through the woman's hair. Despite the harsh strokes, Maud closed her eyes and enjoyed the feeling. Eventually, the ministrations became softer, before stopping. "Rinse," the Hound said.

Maud dipped her hair under water and using her good arm, washed the suds out her hair. "Thank you," she muttered.

Her captor just made a noise in his throat.

"Give me five minutes to wash the rest of me and I'll be done," Maud said.

"If I'm in the bloody bath I might as well wash," the Hound muttered, half to himself. He rubbed the soap against his underarm and smirked as Maud scowled.

"Give it back," she cried, reaching for the soap. The Hound held it above his head, out of her reach. "Heeeey!"

She splashed water up at the tall man and giggled as he splashed back. With wonder, Maud realised this might have been the first time in months that she had felt relaxed.

Looking up at the Hound, it began to sink in that the man was topless. She took in his tight muscles, topped with a layer of thick dark hair and gulped. Maud's cheeks flushed at the private revelation that despite his scarred face, he was actually an attractive man. Suddenly shy, she covered her breasts with her good arm.

Noticing something was different (but not quite sure what) the Hound stopped and looked down at Maud.

"Ready to go?" he asked.

She nodded, grabbing her towel. After drying off quickly and rubbing her hair, she shyly handed the towel to he Hound. Another thought hit her.

"What should I call you?" she asked, suddenly.

The Hound looked at her like she was crazy. "The fuck?"

"I can't call you 'the Hound'. And after...events...I don't want to call you Clegane. So, what should I call you?"

He grunted, considering things. "Sandor," he said, grabbing the towel. "Call me Sandor."


	7. Sansa

_Author's note: SO sorry for delay in this - my computer got a virus and had to go to the shop. Only got it back this week (apparently 'Black Friday' is an excuse) and everything was wiped, so had to re-write._

* * *

The next morning when Maud woke up and noticed the arm flung over her, she didn't instantly wriggle away as usual. Instead she lay there for a moment, his hot breath on her neck. _Sandor's_ hot breath, she thought to herself.

She allowed herself ten minutes of just lying there, soaking in the warmth, before sliding out the bed to get ready for the day.

It was only then, when tidying the room, that she realised the white cloak was missing from the back of his armour. She'd been too busy with her excitement to finally bathe the night before to notice, but now she was curious. While he was meticulous about his armour and sword, he didn't really give a shit about his cloak - and yet he wouldn't just _leave it._

When Sandor awoke, Maud asked the question, but the response was just "Bastarding cocking King", which was funny, but didn't really satisfy Maud's curiosity.

This came later in the day, when a red headed child came to visit.

* * *

Maud hardly noticed the tiny knock on the door. In fact, she had to wait for a second, slightly more urgent, rap before she confirmed the noise.

Gingerly she unlocked the door with the key Sandor had left ("for emergencies only, or I'll have your fucking guts for garters") and peered through the smallest gap possible.

On the other side stood a tall girl with braided red hair, accompanied by a frustrated looking brunette.

The redhead looked confused to see Maud, but the brunette didn't.

"Are you a whore?" She asked bluntly in a pleasant accent.

"No, I'm-" Maud paused. A captive? An attempted murderer now bunking with the person I tried to kill? "A slave." She went with.

The brunette just raised an eyebrow and shoved a bundle at Maud. "Give this to your Master," she said.

"His cloak!" Maud smiled in realisation.

"Please give Ser Clegane my thanks," the younger girl said. She played with the lace on her sleeve, her eyes darting around. Her tongue darted out to touch her split lip.

"Would you like to come in?" Maud said suddenly. _The walls have ears,_ she thought as she remembered the bald man who had visited.

Surprised, the redhead nodded. The pair walked in and looked around eagerly, making Maud doubt herself. She hadn't seen many visitors in Sandor's room since she had been there. She'd thought it was purely down to her presence, but maybe he didn't want anyone in his room in general.

"Tea?" She asked. It would be a few hours until he was back. With any luck, he'd never know.

The younger girl hummed her acceptance, taking a seat at the small table. The brunette continued to stand, arms crossed.

"How long have you worked here?" She asked bluntly, her accent growing stronger.

"It's been about a month," Maud said. "But, I'm sorry, I don't know very many people. I'm Maud."

"Sansa," said the redhead. "And this is my handmaiden, Shea."

 _It's Sansa Stark._ Maud realised, kicking herself. _Engaged to Joffrey even though her father was a traitor and her brother claims to be king._ She gave a clumsy bow.

"I'm sorry, m'lady, I didn't recognise you," She muttered. Joffrey could have her whipped through the streets for this. "Please, I didn't know, please don't tell your Grace."

Sansa looked shocked. "I wouldn't. I won't. I'm just here to return the cloak." Her eyes darted to the door and Maud suddenly realised she was nervous. It wasn't just eavesdroppers she was afraid of. She was also afraid of the boy King.

Pouring the tea into cups and placing honey on the table, Maud tried to hide her curiosity - and failed. "May I ask how you came to have S- my Master's cloak?"

Sansa looked uncomfortable. "My brother is a traitor. His Grace was unpleased at my traitor blood."

 _Well, that was as clear as mud._

"He beat her and stripped her. The Hand stopped him and your Master gave his cloak to cover her. He wasn't brave enough to stop them beating a child, but at least he helped cover her," Shae said bluntly, scowling.

Sansa looked like she wanted to give Shae into trouble, but her face was beet red.

"Ser Clegane is very honourable. He gave me a handkerchief before," she whispered. "We should go. I don't feel well."

Maud curtsied as the duo left, feeling a strange knot in her stomach.

* * *

Sandor arrived back to his quarters just in time for dinner. He quirked his eyebrow on seeing the cloak, bundled on the table. "The little bird was here?"

"Sansa? Yes, she dropped it off. She said you were honourable." Maud said, trying to make her words sound relaxed. The look on Sandor's face brought back the painful knot in her stomach and it suddenly hit her.

She was jealous.

It made no sense. She was just his slave. As much as she shared a bed with the man and he had bathed her, there was nothing between them.

But when he had saved her from his brother, a small part of her thought it was because it was _her._ Maud had heard so many tales of the vicious Hound of House Clegane that subconsciously she thought the side that would stand up to the Mountain, the side that refused to rape her, was for her alone.

Maud pinched her fingernails into the palm of her hand. _Don't be stupid,_ she chided herself, _it's a_ good _thing if he helps poor Sansa._ Set to marry Joffrey, she needed all the allies she could get. But the look Sandor gave the cloak, even his pet name, made Maud burn.

"The fuck is up with you? You look constipated," Sandor said bluntly, bringing Maud out of her thoughts.

She flushed. He was her captor, and she was nothing more than annoyance to him. She couldn't let herself think otherwise.

That night, she dreamed she was Lady Sansa Stark, and that Sandor Clegane was her Lord.


	8. A Series of Events

_Author's note: I'm aware it's still only a short time since the Mountain's attack and it takes longer than a few days to get over something like that. I didn't just want to skip a few months as I want to show how the relationship grows, so I've written this chapter as a series of drabbles. Hope you like it!_

* * *

 **The bath**

"It's a bath!" Maud exclaimed, looking at the shaped copper tub.

Sandor grunted. "Fucking hope so, that's what I asked for. Saves having to traipse to the bathhouse every week."

Maud grinned stupidly. Although tall, the bath wasn't hugely long. She'd be able to sit in it fairly comfortably, but she imagined Sandor's knees would be up at his shoulders. She flushed, imagining the tall man sponging himself.

"Thank you," she said, touching the cold metal.

* * *

 **Of cakes and sweet things**

It was two weeks after the attack and Sandor had finally begun to allow Maud out again. The Mountain had long since returned to Harrenhal, but his brother had still been cautious in allowing Maud to roam the halls unaccompanied.

However, Maud's horror over the event was beginning to fade, and that meant she was starting to go completely stir crazy. After coming back to his room three days in a row to find it completely rearranged, Sandor finally gave in and allowed the girl to walk with him to the kitchen and back.

After a few days of this, she was allowed to make the trips by herself to get breakfast as well as an evening meal when required. Sometimes Sandor would eat in the hall with the other Kingsguard and nobles, but often he would come back to his room.

Maud sometimes felt bad - it was clear he was a man who liked his solitude and she was encroaching on it - but always reminded herself she wasn't there by choice. It was strange, but their relationship had changed since his brother attacked her. They weren't friends, but more like allies. She no longer daydreamed about killing him, and sometimes even looked forward to him getting back in the evenings. Maud blushed as she thought about the dream she had about him. Sandor, she called him now, even in her thoughts. Since he had saved her life, it seemed cruel to call him by his moniker.

She wished there was something she could do to show that she was grateful. Normally she'd but something or make something, but her current predicament as a slave made both difficult.

In lieu of anything else, she began to beg for more cakes from the kitchen. As well as chicken and alcohol, Sandor seemed to have a fondness of sweet things: especially treacle sponge. The cake featured a heavy glug of rum and was so dense Maud could only manage the tiniest of slivers at a time, but the tall man devoured it by the slice. If he suddenly noticed his portion sizes were increasing, he didn't say anything, but Maud hoped he knew each additional slice was a tiny 'thank you'.

* * *

 **In the morning**

It was the splash of water that woke him up. His hand instinctively reached over to his side - an old reflex to when his sword lay there, or to check on Maud, he wasn't totally sure. Either way, his hand just felt the crumpled sheet.

He opened one eye to see her in the metal bath. Satisfied, he closed his eye and prepared to go back to sleep until he heard a small moan in amongst the splashes. His eyes flew open and he took in her face - neck propped on the rim of the bath, her eyes were closed and her cheeks slightly flushed. One hand was tightly gripping the side of the bath, while the other was in the water.

It wasn't until the next small, crooning moan that Sandor realised - _she was touching herself._

He wasn't used to this. He'd slept with women, some whores, some not, but if he was honest his focus has been purely on himself and his needs, not those of his partners. Some of the whores had moaned, aye, but they had been loud, choreographed noises, not these small sighs.

It was something intimate, not meant for his eyes. And yet he felt slightly indignant: she should have waited until he had left the room to do something like this! He toyed with the idea of making himself known and seeing her squirm but something stopped him.

He had begun to enjoy his evening conversations with the woman, and especially enjoy the sudden increase in cakes he was receiving, which he put down to Maud. If she knew he was watching her do _that_ then she might close up again, and she'd only just started to become good company.

Closing his eyes, his hand drifted across to his hardening cock and he quietly stroked himself to the sounds of her moans.

* * *

 **Punishment**

"It's time," he said, gruffly, undoing his belt.

"But we just did it the other day," Maud complained.

Sandor shrugged. "You heard that prick Joffrey. He wanted to hear you being punished twice a week."

Maud sighed and prepared herself as Sandor raised his arm high and brought belt down, landing with a _crack._ On cue, Maud screamed.

With a nod, the muscular arm rose and slammed the belt towards the bed three more times, each time accompanied by a scream.

As the belt cracked down towards the bed for a fifth time, Maud's cry was smaller, her voice breaking.

"Louder," Sandor hissed, turning to face her.

Crossing her legs in the wooden chair, Maud pulled a face. "My throat hurts."

He raised an eyebrow. "Would it help if I actually belted you?"

She shook her head and took a sip of water. When the belt smacked off the bed frame again, Maud's scream was piercing. "Please, please, no more!" She whimpered loudly, before picking up her embroidery. It was going to be a long night.

* * *

 **Storytelling**

"Honestly?" Maud asked, eyeing up the jug of wine on the table.

He grunted, leaning over to let the red liquid slosh into her glass. "I'm no liar."

"I'm not saying you are. But really, you were that young when you signed up to fight? You were still a boy, really."

Sandor shrugged. "You're old enough to swing a sword properly and you're a man, that's what my dad thought. What the fuck else am I going to do with my life?"

It was Maud's turn to shrug.

"My brother Horace killed someone once. They were drunk, and decided it was a good idea to practice with a bow and arrow. It was an accident - he was aiming for a straw dummy. He didn't even hit the boy's heart. It was the leg, but the bleeding wouldn't stop." She shuddered as she remembered the blood, and gulped her wine.

"What about you?" Sandor asked, refilling her cup.

"I've never killed anyone. You were going to be my first," Maud admitted. The wine was making her feel lightheaded. It wasn't the light drink she was used to, but had a stronger, more sour, flavour.

He snorted as he drained his own cup as if it were water. "Too bad your arrow didn't pierce through my helm, eh?"

"I didn't mean then," Maud said, her tongue loosened by the drink. "I meant later. With the poison." It hit her what she said and she cringed. _Fuck_ , she thought.

She was expecting to be beaten, at least, for this. For the belt to crack her for real. What she didn't expect was for Sandor to stare at her incredulously before bursting into guffaws of laughter.

"You were going to poison me? You used to fucking taste my food, you dumb cunt."

"It was slow acting," she defended herself. "I'd have had time to take an antidote and escape."

His laughter turned into hiccups. "What if I wasn't hungry?"

"It was chicken! You're always bloody hungry for chicken!"

He nodded to himself. "Aye." He gave Maud a strange look, almost respect. "Remind me not to piss you off."

* * *

 **No hero**

"The little bird's bleeding. Someone take her back to her cage," Sandor muttered, as he deposited a shaking Sansa.

"Well done, Clegane!" Tyrion cheered, as ladies began to fuss over the Stark girl.

"I didn't do it for you," he replied, watching the redhead being taken away. What was it about the girl that awoke a weakness in him?

 _Stupid cunting King,_ he thought as he walked away. He can give all the insults in the world but a few comments and a pile of shite and he declares fucking war on a bunch of peasants.

"You seem to be making a habit of saving damsels in distress," a voice drawled from behind him. Sandor turned on his heel to see that flaming eunuch standing there.

"This place seems to be causing a lot of fucking distress," he sighed. "I'm not a bloody hero, so don't make me part of your schemes."

He stormed off towards his room. Towards his other bloody damsel.


	9. Playing with cards and playing with fire

_Authors note: I'm so sorry I've taken so long to update...but there are a good few chapter set to come soon. I hope this keeps you going!_

* * *

"Fucking cheating sellsword bastard," Sandor hissed, the door of the tavern slamming behind him.

In a fury, he downed the last of his drink and smashed the glass on the ground, before storming back to the keep.

The laughter of the oily ginger bastard and the dwarf rang in his ears as he made his way to the kitchens. The servants didn't even peep as he snatched up two flagons of wine.

He listened in satisfaction to the slosh of the liquid as he made his way up to his room, pausing occasionally to take a long slug.

Sandor kicked open the door to his room to see Maud's surprised face. "Thought you'd be out all night," she commented as she put down her embroidery. Normally on one of his drinking nights (not to be confused with the drinks he had on a regular night), Sandor wouldn't appear until just before daybreak - and then he would come in singing a lewd song and regale her with stories. It was one of the things Maud looked forward to the most.

"Don't you fucking start," he growled. "Cheating fucking cunt. His nose is so far up the dwarf's fucking asshole it's a surprise he could see the cards to cheat."

Maud didn't ask. Instead she watched silently as the tall man drank his fill. To her surprise, he offered her the other flagon. She had to use both hands to lift it to her mouth, and it struck her again how strong Sandor was as he used only two fingers.

* * *

 _"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,  
the Dornishman's taken my life,  
But what does it matter, for all men must die,  
and I've tasted the Dornishman's wiiiife!"_

Maud laughed as Sandor ended the song with a crescendo. She loved when the hulk of a man sang in his husky, gravelly voice.

Both were now pleasantly buzzed. The two flagons lay empty on the table, replaced with a wineskin.

"More wine!" Sandor cheered, his face slightly flushed.

Maud made a face and shook her head. "I'm numb," she pinched herself as proof. "That means no more wine for me."

He sighed, his face falling.

"I'll have more wine...if you tell me a story." Maud bargained.

A scowl. "Don't want to tell a fucking story. Cards! Let's play cards."

"What does the winner get? Buttons?" Maud snorted. "How about, if I win, you let me go free."

Sandor snorted. "Funny. Didn't realise you'd gone mad."

"FINE. If I win, you tell me the story of Robert's Rebellion. But if you win, you get...more wine? I won't complain about cleaning the chamberpot for a week?"

Another snort. He knew he was good at cards. He didn't need a prize, he just wanted the satisfaction of the win. So if he made the prize ridiculous, she'd agree to just play. No fucking stories.

"Shit on that. If I win…" he paused to think. What would stop her? "If I win, you suck my cock." _That should do it,_ he thought smugly.

"Deal," Maud whispered. _What the fuck?_

* * *

"Don't be so fucking stubborn," Sandor warned as he dealt the cards. "We can just play."

Maud looked at her cards. She didn't know why she'd agreed and now she had the chance to back out she was inclined to take it. They could just play cards, and that would be that. And yet...Part of her was intrigued and she felt a warmth in her groin. Normally she'd push that side down easily, but all the wine meant her inhibitions were low. Besides, she had two threes, a King and an ace. If she could trade her other cards for a Queen and another three, she'd win.

"I want my story," she said, taking another sip of wine.

Sandor sighed. _Stubborn bitch._

He won, easily. "Best of five," he said, dealing again.

In the end, Maud won only one of the five hands.

"It's fine," Sandor said roughly. "Get me more wine and we'll be even."

Maud's throat felt dry as the two sides of her mind battled. He was her captor. He was a Clegane. She should accept his out and be grateful. But over the past few weeks she'd been daydreaming more about him, imagining him taking her in those muscular arms. Throughout the games, she could feel the moisture pool in her underclothes as she imagined scenarios that no Lady would dream of. "No," she said. "I'll do it. But…"

"What?" Sandor's cock twitched. He'd been semi-erect since the second hand of cards. The expectation was that Maud agreed to stop the bet, passed out drunk and he had a wank. But maybe the plans were changing.

Maud blushed. "I've never touched a cock before. I always thought I'd be married when I did."

"I'm not fucking marrying you," came the blunt response.

"I don't want to marry you. And it's unlikely I'll get married living here. But, I mean, I don't know what to do."

"It's pretty easy. You stick it in your mouth and...suck it."

With shaking hands, Maud lowered herself to her knees in front of him and reached to unfasten his breeches. She could feel his hard warmth and gingerly peeled back the fabric of his trousers to reveal his cock. Her cheeks coloured as she looked at it, jutting from a nest of brown curls. Maud was pleased to notice it wasn't as big as The Mountain's cock, but it still seemed long, at least the length of her hand. Desperately avoiding looking up at Sandor's face, lest she lost courage, Maud wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock - and was shocked when it jerked.

Sandor let out a gasp of laughter. "It does that," he assured her. Even that one touch felt magical. It had been so _fucking_ long since another person had touched him.

Curious, Maud reached out her other hand and stroked his cock, gently, as one might stroke a stray kitten. Her thumb ran down the thick vein on the underside, causing another jerk. Feeling more confident (although that could have been because of the wine), Maud ducked her head. She could smell him now, a musky scent and a small part of her brain wondered what it tasted like.

Sandor's hands gripped the arms of his chair tightly as he saw Maud bob her head. An experimental flick of her tongue over the smooth head made him choke back a moan. Still gripping the base of his cock with one hand, she placed her lips over his tip and slowly began to take the bulbous head into her mouth. The wet warmth felt incredible and Sandor couldn't stop himself from groaning.

Gods, he wanted her to keep going. He wanted to grab her hair and force himself deeper into her mouth. But a sudden tightening in his balls told him there wasn't time. "That's enough," he said roughly, putting a hand on Maud's shoulder to make her pull back, as she curiously licked up a drop of salty pre-cum.

Standing up, he grabbed a cloth just in time, and finished himself off with a few quick tugs. He felt like a green boy half his age. A few touches and he was sated.

"Was it...bad?" Maud asked shakily, still on her knees. She didn't know much but she thought it was supposed to last longer, that she was supposed to put more of it in her mouth. From lewd conversations her brothers had, she had been under the impression that such an endeavour made women choke.

"No," Sandor said, closing his breeches. He felt a bit lightheaded. Was it the wine? "It was fine." What did one do in this situation? Normally after he came, he'd pay the whore and leave.

"D'you want to hear the story of Robert's Rebellion?" When Maud nodded, he felt relieved. He waited til she stood up and sat in her chair before beginning. "Back when The Mad King was on the throne, Robert Baratheon…"


	10. Blood and regret

A Dothraki horde was stampeding through her head. That's what it felt like when Maud woke the next morning. She nervously cracked open an eye, then blinked them both open as she realised the curtains were closed and she would not be attacked by the sun.

With a dry throat and a pounding headache, Maud realised that Sandor was not lying beside her. She hoisted herself up on her elbows and looked around the room, but he wasn't there. With a fierce blush, her eyes landed on the chair and she remembered the night before and her wanton act.

 _Why did I agree to do that?_ She thought, raising a hand to her hot cheek. Over the past weeks the two had been coming closer, and she could not deny that despite being his prisoner she found him attractive. Despite his harsh attitude and his twisted face, she had discovered he had honour and was good company. And yet she feared she had ruined it.

She'd pretend it hadn't happened, she decided. She had been drunk - her head throbbed in agreement - so she'd just pretend she couldn't remember. Hopefully he would go along with it and things could continue.

It seemed strange to want to continue being a captive. Months ago she was desperate to escape the man, considering murder. And yet now...now she enjoyed their evenings together, looked forward to hearing his rumbling voice telling about his day. She liked his matter-of-fact nature, his quick retorts, and how his lips quirked upwards when they joked.

Her cheeks flushed as she admitted to herself she also liked how he looked without his shirt, and the musky smell of him. Her groin throbbed as she remembered licking the smooth head of his cock, the feel of his coarse hair under her fingers and the sound of his muffled moans.

It made Maud feel like a silly maiden. There were stories about women who fell in love with their captors and saw them as their masters. She refused to be one of them. _It didn't happen,_ she told herself. _And I will control myself. I won't let my emotions in my way._

* * *

Sandor swallowed, hard. He'd deliberately not woken the girl when he left in the morning. He'd like to pretend it was because he knew Maud would be hungover given the amount of wine she had put away the night before, but really it was so he wouldn't need to deal with what had happened.

It had been years since he had had a pair of lips wrapped around his cock. His sexual encounters tended to involve the trading of coin, and he'd rather pay a silver extra to take them by the cunt. His reputation and looks meant most insisted on him taking them from behind.

But last night… having Maud on her knees in front of him, the tickle of her hair on his thighs, and _Gods_ the feeling of her tongue on his sensitive tip, had awoken something in him. A longing stronger than he had felt in a decade. Not just a lust to wet his cock, but a desire.

After she'd fallen into a drunken sleep he had stared at her for a few minutes, then began to touch himself. He imagined her taking him deep into her mouth, of that tongue finding a path along the veiny underside. His cock leaped at the thought of Maud on her knees, looking up at him with her big eyes and a full mouth. He came for the second time of the evening as he imagined spreading her legs and taking her on the bed - her head back and making the little moans he had overheard the time he had caught her masterbating.

He shook his head slightly, as if to shake the images from his brain. Sandor was to guard over the Stark girl today and it wouldn't do if people thought he was lusting over the little bird. Life was hard enough for her as it was without her worried the big bad Hound might want her.

Sandor checked quickly to make sure his hair was covering as much of his burns as possible (he knew they made Sansa shudder) before walking the corridor to her room.

He was surprised to see one of Cersei's handmaidens leave the room, followed in hot pursuit by Sansa's own girl. Curious, hand resting on the hilt of his sword, he turned into the future queen's room to see her in tears with blood on the bed.

It took a second for his battle-trained mind to realise the blood wasn't a result of a fight, but instead her monthly bleed. He ducked out the room - little bird didn't want him in sight while she sorted it out. He had no input in that scenario. Maud obviously had bleeds, although he only noticed a stain on the sheets one morning in the months she had been in his room, and that had been gone by the time he returned from guarding Joffrey.

He caught sight of a maid and scared her by putting his large hand on her little shoulder.

"Clean sheets for the Stark girl. She's had her bleed," he said, awkwardly.

The maid gasped. "Her first bleed! She's a woman now - ready to bear future princes and princesses! By the Maiden, this is great news. I shall get fresh sheets and inform the Queen." With a bobbed curtsey she ran off and Sandor was left with a feeling of horror. _Her first bleed_. The poor little bird was now at the mercy of the stupid cunt Joffrey now more than ever. He cursed himself for getting involved.

* * *

Sandor's mood continued to blacken as the day went on. Sansa and her lady looked at him with hatred, clearly thinking he had shared the news as part of his duties. If it had been anyone else it would have washed over him - he was just Joffrey's dog, after all - but the hurt on the redhead's face made him angry.

When he finally made his way back to his room, he just wanted a large drink and some quiet. He groaned to himself as he thought about dealing with Maud and the aftermath of the night before.

One of the things he'd come to like about the girl was her ability to speak her mind, even when it was to her detriment, but he didn't want to talk about what happened. Not now anyway. He tried to prepare himself for a barrage of questions and demands. Possibly pleas for freedom.

It was with some trepidation that he opened the door, and was surprised to find a clean room and dinner on the table. Given the amount of wine Maud had consumed, he had partially expected to find her still in bed, not completing duties.

Maud looked up from her position stoking the fire. Luckily the heat from the flames covered the blush on her cheeks. "There's salt pork and potatoes on the table," she said, not catching his eye.

Sandor gave a hrmf of acknowledgement and sat down at the table. With a sudden burst of hunger he began to tuck into the food, enjoying the taste of the tender salty meat.

"I apologise," Maud said carefully as he ate. "I had a lot of wine last night and I can't remember anything. Hopefully it was an uneventful evening?"

He tried to catch her gaze, but she wasn't looking at him. He swallowed, the pork suddenly flavourless in his mouth. "Yes. Uneventful."

To his eyes, it looked like her shoulders relaxed at this. Did she truly not remember...or was it she just wished it didn't happen? Either way, it was for the best not to discuss it.

* * *

 _Author's note: Slightly shorter chapter...but if you know your GoT episodes you'll know that the Battle of the Blackwater is coming soon! Review and let me know what you want - should Maud leave with Sandor, or do the two go their separate ways for a while? And should they get together beforehand? I've a lot of ideas in my head but now's the chance to have your input! (My private messages don't seem to be working, so review is best!)_


	11. A Simple Kiss

_Author's note: Nearly time for the final season! I'll try to get at least one more chapter up before it starts but until then..._

* * *

Over the next few days, Maud noticed Sandor's mood getting darker. Not that he'd ever been a ray of sunshine, but he was joking less, drinking more and she often noticed his forehead furrowed.

It wasn't just him: even in the kitchen there was a crackle of nervousness. Stannis Baratheon's army was close, according to the rumours, and could be at Kings Landing within a week.

Would Joffrey's win change her position? No. But if Stannis won...there was a chance she could be freed. The enemy of my enemy is my friend and so forth. And yet - she peeked at Sandor - Stannis winning would definitely mean Sandor's death.

Things had been slightly awkward since the night of drinking and Maud was regretting agreeing to her forfeit. The pair had been deliberately polite to each other. In fact, Maud didn't think she'd been called a cunt in five days - a new record (strange that a few months ago she could have counted the number of times she was called it on one hand, and now she almost _missed_ the big man throwing the insult at her).

Despite the strangeness, Maud was conflicted. Yes, she'd love to leave the hell that was King's Landing, but at the same time the thought of Sandor dead made her feel ill.

She looked over at his form, sleeping beside her in the lumpy bed. He looked surprisingly peaceful in repose. As if he knew she was looking at him, he muttered in his sleep, farted, and turned. In his new position, Sandor's hair flowed onto his pillow and Maud could clearly see the full extent of his burns. The puckered, mottled scar tissue on his cheek and forehead gave way to the coarse hair of his beard. That, Maud was now used to, but it was the first time she had the opportunity to properly look at his ear. The outer shell had been burned away, with only a small amount of extremity left to protect the ear hole. It was only looking at this that she realised how painful his burn must have been, the length of time his face must have been aflame. How could his brother do that to him?

Maud felt sick to her stomach, imagining the hulking shadow of The Mountain shoving Sandor's face into a fire. This wasn't an accident. It was a deliberately delivered torture and Maud couldn't imagine enacting that on her worst enemy, let alone one of her brothers. Except...she wouldn't mind hurting The Mountain himself. Maybe Sandor would help hold him down.

He snuffled in his sleep and Maud looked again at him. Checking he was definitely sleeping, she tentatively reached over and gently touched where his eyebrow should be. It felt smooth under her fingers, yet tight like skin pulled over a drum. Sandor's eyelids flickered, but didn't open. With more confidence, her fingertips stroked his cheek, the palm of her hand cradling his chin.

Suddenly, a strong pressure gripped her wrist and Maud gasped as Sandor's hand bruised her. She squealed as his eyes snapped opened and, in a haze, his other hand found her throat. In a matter of seconds he went from lying flat to straddling Maud, his hands squeezing her neck and wrist tightly.

"It's just me!" Maud gasped, trying desperately to push the larger man off her. She raised her free hand and slapped him across the unburned side of his face. It was enough to snap him out of his half-slumber and Maud greedily sucked in air as the hand loosened its grip on her throat.

"I'm sorry," he muttered, his hair falling in front of his face.

"Is that how you treat all the ladies?" Maud teased as she rubbed her throat.

"Only when they attack me in my sleep," came the response.

"I wasn't attacking you, I was touching you," Maud bit back, then blushed. "It's not my fault you have a temper. You could have killed me!"

He had the good manners to look chagrined. "I'm not used to…"

"Being touched?" Maud finished, noticing he was still straddling her, just a sheet and their underclothes between him. A spasm went straight to her groin as she remembered her mouth around his cock and the noises he made.

He grunted in agreement. "Who'd touch The Hound?" He quipped.

Maud's face tightened. "You're not a monster," she blurted. "You're not like your brother. You act hard, but you're a good man, really."

Another grunt, but gentler. He stared down at her, as if questioning. She gazed back and slowly raised her hand again to touch his face. This time he let her run her fingers over the scarred half of his face, her thumb rubbing his beard.

He was always grateful that his beard still grew on that side of his face, allowing some semblance of normality. It was the upper half of his face that had received the most damage in the brazier's heat. It was this half that Maud now gave attention, the pads of her fingertips tracing patterns on his skin. Sandor had never let anyone touch his face like this before - he didn't even touch his face like that. As much as possible he avoided mirrors, and yet the girl was touching him as gently as one might handle a priceless vase.

They'd never know who moved first, but within seconds Sandor's lips were pressing down on Maud's. Later, he would swear her hand pulled his head down, but Maud claimed he'd dipped his head himself. Either way, the kiss happened. Starting soft and hesitant it became something deeper, stronger, before Sandor pulled back.

"I shouldn't have done that. I'm not my brother. I'm not going to fucking force you into…"

"You didn't force me," Maud said quickly. "I...I liked it."

This time it was Sandor's hand that reached out and touched Maud's face. Curling his long fingers round the back of her neck, he pulled her into another kiss. His lips were chapped against her soft ones, but both kissed with equal fervour. Her hand grabbed a fistful of his hair as kiss deepened, and Maud's tongue gently probed at his lips for access. He acquiesced, returning the favour. For someone who claimed to not often be touched, he was a surprisingly good kisser, Maud thought madly as she leant forward.

When they finally pulled apart, Sandor let out a soft laugh. "You're fucking crazy."

Maud licked her lips. She was spared having to respond by a sharp knock on the door.

"Hound! The Imp has asked for you."


	12. Sortie

_Author's note: Who else is super excited about the last season of GoT starting this weekend? Desperate for Cleganebowl...which our guy Sandor HAS to win. If there's anything you want to see in season 8 (or wish had happened previously that I can try to incorporate here for you...) let me know in reviews!_

* * *

Maud lay in bed, dazed, while Sandor growled and dressed quickly. _Did I really just do that?_

There was no way to put this down to alcohol. She stayed mute and as still as a statue as Sandor stomped around, putting on his armour.

Once he left the room, giving Maud a look she couldn't decipher, she got up and washed. She wished she had more toiletries and clothes to choose from: the Lady Sansa would surely be washing her hair in a lavender scent and pressing scented oil to her wrists and neck, before her handmaid plaited her hair in an intricate style and she chose one of a wide array of dresses. Maud, on the other hand, had plain old lye soap (which, to be honest, smelled a bit like Sandor's armpits) for her hair and body, wound her hair into a bun, and had a choice of two dresses. She wondered if she could pilfer some peppermint from the kitchen to chew on to at least freshen her breath a little more, and rub on her pulse points.

She shook her head to rid herself of the thoughts. Was she thinking about _dressing up_ for Sandor? It wasn't like the two were courting. She tried to dismiss all thoughts of his lips on hers and began her usual cleaning regime. She would _not_ think about his calloused fingers stroking the back of her neck in a way that gave her goosebumps...

* * *

 _She had fucking kissed him._

Sandor could still feel a phantom tingle of her hand caressing the burned side of his face as he followed Ser Moore through the corridors to the Hand's room.

Part of him wished he was still in bed and cursed The Imp for the intrusion, but the other half was strangely grateful. He had no fucking clue what in the seven hells was going on with himself and Maud...but had no plans to sit down and discuss it like a pack of wittering birds. He would admit he enjoyed the kiss, and he'd become attracted to Maud, but he wasn't one for relationships.

Technically he'd been given permission from the King to fuck her, but she didn't seem the type for a random roll in the hay. Maybe if he paid her? Yes - a barter system could work. He decided to broach it later, as he entered The Imp's room.

"Ah, Clegane," the Lannister said as walked in. "We need to talk about my dearest nephew."

Sandor grunted. Clearly Tyrion took this as an invitation to continue.

"Stannis and his dour army should be here in the coming days, if the Spider's web of spies are to be believed. Our dear King (who is obviously the rightful ruler ecetera ecetera) has announced that he wants to join the battle."

"You want me to guard him?" Sandor asked, warily. There was no way he could fight properly and look after that little cunt at the same time. The blond brat would be dead in the first five minutes. The thought had been preying on his mind ever since he heard the boy claim he was going to kill more men than Ser Bywater, the captain of the Mud Gate.

"I didn't take you for a fool, Clegane. A maniac, maybe, but not a fool. My nephew will be kept back at the Mud Gate with me, which I'm sure he would do as soon as he caught a glimpse of the enemy. Yo know as well as I that for all his bluster he is coward who would hide behind my dear sister's skirt for dear life. No - I intent you to lead a sortie. Will you...oblige?"

It wasn't as if he actually had a choice, but Sandor was pleased. Commanding a sortie meant he could cut and kill and rampage as he pleased and made sure the rest of the bloody gold cloaks did the same. It had been a while since he had been in a proper battle. Not a melee, not riding down a bloody butcher's boy, but an actual battle. Was it the Greyjoy rebellion? Probably - cutting down those squiddy bastards.

"Aye," he replied shortly, mouth twitching at the thought of being able to use his full strength to fight and not watch over Joffrey.

"Good," the little man responded. He looked as if he expected this answer, as well as one might. Asking The Hound if he wanted to fight was like asking Littlefinger if he wanted power. "Choose 20 men and get back to me within the day. I'll do what I can, but can't guarantee the gold cloaks."

Sandor nodded. Off the top of his head, he could count on one hand the number of gold cloaks he'd trust to have his back in a fight. Most of them were in it for the money or the King's favour, and they'd be unlikely to last the battle.

"Anything else?" he asked.

The Imp shook his head, reaching for the goblet of wine on the table. Before bringing it to his mouth. "Sh - eh, Sansa said you've a girl. I hope you're treating her well."

"As well as she deserves," Sandor replied, hackles up. He didn't like the smallest Lannister. He acted like he was better that then twins and their bastard children, but Sandor didn't trust Tyrion as far as he could throw him - which was pretty fucking far. One sarky comment from him to Cersei and Maud would be whipped through the streets. He wouldn't have that.

"D'you want a go?" He added, praying the answer was no. He'd heard some stories about the dwarf. He didn't know if they were true (he'd overheard some stories about himself that were definitely false) but he didn't want to share Maud either way.

"I thank you for the kind offer, Clegane, but I think I'll manage without. Just send me the list as soon as you can," came the calculated response.

With a nod, Sandor left the room. In the corridor, he paused. Should he go back to his room, and Maud? _No,_ he decided. _It's never too early for a pint._


	13. Blackwater

A few drinks later and Sandor had enough Dornish courage to face Maud. She smiled when he entered the room. She kept doing that, recently, and Sandor couldn't decide how it made him feel. He had friends who were happy to see him, obviously, but they most likely to give him a nod and just a slight upward twitch of the lips, not a full on smile.

"I don't have lands," he said abruptly. "I don't have a title. And I won't set you free because you kissed me." She made to interrupt him, but he held up his hand to stop her. Alcohol fuelled his words. "But I liked when you kissed me and I liked when you sucked my cock. I'm not a fucking Ser who'll give you flowers but I'm not my bloody brother. So I'll offer a deal. I'll give you a copper a day. Each time you suck me I'll add a gold coin. And each week I'll take you to the market and you can buy whatever you like."

Maud's face had flushed when he said he liked the kiss, and even redder when he mentioned the drunken incident ( _so she did remember!)_ but turned puce at the deal. Had he not offered enough?

"Do you think I'm a common whore who'll be yours for a coin? Hells to that! I kissed you because I _liked_ you. I wasn't expecting anything in return and I will not suck your cock for money. The fact you think I would means you don't know me. I'll be your captive, but I won't be your whore."

"I know you're not a bloody whore! I just don't want to take advantage of you, you stupid cunt!" He exploded.

She flinched at his harsh tone. _I'm being The Hound,_ Sandor realised. He took a few steps back, until he heard the small clang of his armour against the stone wall. "I didn't- "

Maud's face was screwed up in indignation, her eyes flashing. If he wasn't worried, Sandor might have laughed at her expression. Suddenly she barrelled across the room and Sandor did his best not to flinch as the missile came towards him. Expecting a slap, he was surprised instead when pushed her lips against his. He dipped his head but she still had to stand on her toes to reach him, his hair covering his face.

She pulled away and looked up, still indignant. "Did you like that?" She demanded.

"Aye," came the slow response.

"So did I. So there will be no talk of money or favours. If you want to kiss me, and I want to kiss you, then that's that."

"Fine," Sandor grunted. "Now fuck off to the kitchen and get us some food. I'm babysitting the bloody King his afternoon."

* * *

Eight hours of Joffrey's piss later, and Sandor made his way back to his room. He often wondered how Joffrey was such a little shit when Myrcella and Tommen were courteous. The answer was of course his bloody mother treating him like he was the Prince who was bloody promised. At least today the boy King had insisted on training for 'beating his uncle', giving the sworn sword the opportunity to blow off steam training while the boy hacked and slashed at straw men, boasting about how many he would kill.

Sandor was grateful he wouldn't be guarding the boy during the coming battle. If all was to be believed, Stannis could arrive tomorrow night. Part of him was excited, his body singing for battle. He knew he was built for killing, and he enjoyed it. But now there was a niggle in the back of his head about keeping Maud safe.

 _I'll tell her in the morning_ , he decided.

* * *

The process of getting ready for bed that night was awkward. Sandor pulled off his shirt and boots as normal, but Maud was suddenly shy. After months of living in close quarters she had become used to Sandor seeing her in just her shift, but now it felt strange. She found herself blushing as she combed out her hair. When Sandor washed his hands in the water bowl, Maud took the opportunity to quickly undress and dive under the covers.

Sandor didn't seem to notice anything as he finished his ministrations and joined her under the sheets. He looked over at her for a second and his forehead crinkled, as if thinking. Without a word, he turned his face and closed his eyes. Within seconds, Maud could hear the breathy sounds of his snores. With one last look at him, she turned over, blew out her candle, and shut her own eyes.

When she woke the next morning, it was to see Sandor looking down at her. _Could he tell I was dreaming about him?_

"When the battle starts, I want you to bar the door. If we win, you'll know it's me at the door. If we don't win, or if I die, you need to be ready. I've still the collar chain you wore your first night: when you hear the sounds of the battle dying down you put that on. If it's sour Stannis you plead that you were locked up here and forced to be mine. Throw yourself on his mercy. He's into the Lord of Light - some pert-titted Red Priestess follows him around so offer to convert or whatever else makes him happy. If the Lannisters win but I die, I don't know what will happen. You try to run if you can."

"Good morrow to you too," Maud said. Her voice was light but her brain was going at 100 miles per hour trying to take it all in.

"I'll leave the key to the chains, and a dagger. Hide them on you, or near you. I've heard no word about my brother but if I die and he tries to claim you…"

"I'll kill myself before I let that happen," came the fierce reply.

"Aye," Sandor replied slowly. "Less pain in that. He'll try to make you scream. Death is easier."

* * *

Sandor could hear that greasy cunt Bronn before he walked in the door of the tavern with Bywater. "Don't feel sorry for him. He'll be halfway up your arse before the night's through." What was he talking about? The Imp? The sellsword's cock? He didn't know, and by the Gods he didn't care.

Bywater rolled his eyes at Sandor before pushing the door open. He'd worked years to become captain of the Mud Gate, and the sellsword had swanned in with The Imp and instantly become commander of the gold cloaks. Not a job he wanted for himself, but it bloody stung.

"Welcome, friends. This round's on me," Bronn crowed as the two walked in.

Ignoring him, Sandor and Bywater stood silently in front of a table until the occupants skunk away. Sandor picked up the mug on the table and drank deeply.

"I don't think he likes me," the ginger twat stage whispered to the naked whore on his lap.

"You think you're a hard man?" Sandor called. The eve of battle was riling him up.

"I know it," came the reply. Lannister men laughed along with him. They knew what side their bread was buttered on. "It's warm in here. We've got beautiful women and good brown ale. Plenty for everyone. And all you want is to put one of us in the cold ground with no women to keep us company."

Sandor laughed, hollowly. "Oh, there's women in the ground. I put some there myself. So have you. You like fucking and drinking and singing. But killing, killing's the thing you love. You're just like me." He stood up and walked towards the greasy cunt. "Only smaller."

"And quicker. Eh?"

"Your Lord Imp's going to miss you," Sandor goaded. _Just one punch. Let me get one punch on that nose._

Patting the whore on the arse to make her move, as one might do a house cat, Bronn stood lazily. "Aye, I expect he will someday." Sandor could sense him reaching round. For a dagger?

A bell tolled in the distance, making the soldiers stand up.

"One more drink before the war? Shall we?" The ginger cunt offered.

 _Fuck off_ , Sandor thought, leaving.

* * *

He knew he should head straight to the armoury, or to see Joffrey, but Sandor went to his room. If anyone asked, he decided he'd say he was fetching something, but no-one did. Everyone was rushing somewhere.

"It's time?" Maud said as he opened the door. "I heard the bell."

"Aye. When I leave, bar the door as well as you can. Stay safe." His mouth felt woolly. Part of him was getting set for battle but he wasn't used to worrying about someone else.

"I'll be fine," Maud said, as if she could tell. Unexpectedly, she pulled him into a hug. He placed a hand on her back, unsure, before leaning down and kissing her hard.

Pulling back, he made for the door, silently.

"Sandor?" She called. She smiled as he turned. "Come back to me. Come back...and I'll suck your cock again."

It was the only thing that made him laugh in that situation. One last look backwards and he left to find the boy king. As the door closed behind him, he heard the sound of the table being moved. _Stay safe,_ he thought.

* * *

Joffrey ponced towards Sansa and her handmaiden, talking to The Imp and that Payne boy. Sandor walked behind.

"Sansa," he called. "Sansa, come here. Your king rides forth to battle. You should see him off with a kiss."

He drew his sword and presented it, as if expecting awe. "My new blade. Hearteater, I've named it. Kiss it."

 _What sort of cunt names his sword?_

Sansa dutifully leant down and kissed the blade.

"You'll kiss it again when I return and taste my uncle's blood," Joffrey said.

"Will you slay him yourself?" Sansa asked.

"If Stannis is fool enough to come near me."

"So you'll be outside the gates fighting in the vanguard?" Sana'a asked. _What's she getting at?_

"A king doesn't discuss battle plans with stupid girls," Joffrey scoffed.

"I'm sorry, Your Grace. You're right, I'm stupid. Of course you'll be in the vanguard. They say my brother Robb always goes where the fighting is thickest. And he is only a pretender," came Sansa's response. _Clever little bird. You know he'll be killed if he goes into the heat of battle._

"Your brother's turn will come. Then you can lick his blood off Hearteater, too," Joffrey responded, before turning on his heel. Did he know he was being goaded? Sandor didn't know. Part of him hoped the boy took the bait...as long as he wasn't the one to have to protect him.

* * *

Joffrey, Tyrion, Lancel and Sandor climbed the steps to the harbour wall.

"Where's our fleet?" The whimpering Lannister boy said.

"On the way," The Imp replied.

"Why isn't it here now? They're coming."Joffrey asked. When there was no coming reply he got frustrated. "Hound, tell the Hand that his king has asked him a question."

"The king has asked you a question." Sandor parroted.

"Ser Lancel, tell the Hound to tell the king that the Hand is extremely busy," The Imp responded.

Lancel turned to Sandor. "The Hand of the King would like me to tell you to tell the king-"

"If I tell the Hound to cut you in half, he'll do it without a second thought." _Oh, please let me,_ Sandor thought.

"That would make me the quarterman. It just doesn't have the same ring to it. Cut me in half and I won't be able to give the signal. No signal, no plan. No plan and Stannis Baratheon sacks this city, takes the Iron Throne, puts your pinched little head atop a gate somewhere. It might be quite amusing, except that my head would be up there, too. I've never much liked my head, but I don't want to see it removed just yet." Tyrion quipped. Sandor hid a smile.

* * *

Tyrion threw the torch over the side of the wall as a signal. Seconds later, a flaming arrow set fly, creating an explosion.

 _Seven hells._ Sandor tried to remain resolute as Joffrey shielded his eyes. _Those poor men._ He clenched his fists so as not to retch as he imagined the horrific pain the poor soldiers must be feeling.

"They're coming. They're coming ashore!" Joffrey panicked.

"Hound, form a welcome party for any Baratheon troop that manages to touch solid ground. Pod, run to the King's Gate. Bring any men guarding it here, now."

"Let's go. Stannis is sending us fresh meat!" Sandor yelled to the men, trying not to let his voice waver. He spied Lancel in the corner. "You, too," he added, punching the knight in the chest.

"Any of these flaming fucking arrows come near me, I'll strangle you with your own guts," he growled.

* * *

Sandor stood ready to lead the charge of Lannister men.

"Any man dies with a clean sword, I'll rape his fucking corpse," he yelled as a battle cry.

He ran into the frey, followed by Lancel and the Lannister army. Instantly his instincts kick in and he begins to hack and slash at the Baratheon men. Out the corner of his eye he sees Lancel fall and scuttle away. _Twat,_ he thought as swung his sword again, decimating his foes as the chaos of battle continued.

A flaming man ran screaming towards Sandor. The smell and sound shook him to the bone, and he froze, not able to raise his sword against her attacker. Suddenly the man stopped and fell to the ground, an arrow lodged in his back. Coming out of his stupor, Sandor looked up to see his saviour, and almost wished he had died when he saw it was that ginger bastard Bronn.

He inhaled sharply. The horrific stench of burnt flesh assaulted his nostrils and he was overcome with the memory of his brother holding his face into the big brazier, pressing him down further into the coals every time he screamed. He soon learned that silence was better.

 _Enough. This is not my war._ He turned and re-entered the gates. Many of the Lannister forces followed in his wake.

"Someone bring me a drink!" He called as he reached the harbour wall. A soldier handed him a skin. He took a big gulp, then spat it out. "Fuck the water. Bring me wine."

Another soldier passed him a skin and he drank deeply. He shuffled through the courtyard, still dazed. The wine helped though.

"Can I get you some iced milk and a nice bowl of raspberries, too?" The Imp's words brought Sandor out of his thoughts.

"Eat shit, dwarf," he growled.

"You're on the wrong side of the wall," Tyrion said, his ugly face wrinkling.

"I lost half my men. The Blackwater's on fire." Sandor retorted.

"Dog, I command you to go back out there and fight!" Joffrey yelped.

Sandor looked down, trying to bit his tongue. _Be a good dog._

"You're Kingsguard, Clegane. You must beat them back or they're going to take this city. Your king's city!" Tyrion's rousing speech didn't have the intended effect. _Enough_. Sandor thought.

"Fuck the Kingsguard. Fuck the city. Fuck the king." He spat. Without a second look, he left.

* * *

Maud stifled a scream as someone pounded on the door. She double checked her chain collar and slipped her hand under the mattress to check for the dagger, before hearing Sandor hiss "it's me!"

Before she could even made it to move the table away from the door, Sandor opened the door himself through brute strength. _He is drunk_ , she thought, surprised.

"I'm leaving. I'm done. You can stay here, or you can come with me," he said.

Her mind raced. Stay, and face whatever came, or leave. If she wanted, she could leave him on the road. Either way, she'd be free. "I'll come," she decided. "Do we have time to get some food for the road? No-one should be in the kitchen."

"Aye," Sandor said, nodding softly. "But be fast about it. And pack anything you need. Meet me at the stables. And bring the dagger. If anyone comes near you, stab them."

"You're not coming with me?"

"I need -. The Lady Sansa. If Joffrey wins, her life will be hell. We should take her too."

Maud's stomach clenched in jealousy against her best wishes. "I'll meet you at the stables."

* * *

The little bird wasn't coming. Sandor replayed her words in his head as he made his was to the stables. 'You won't hurt me," she said, and he wouldn't. He couldn't. He felt sorry for the girl. She was so young and had been through so much. And if Joffrey won she would be through so much more. Sandor hopes his words stuck in her brain. 'The world is built by killers. So you'd better get used to looking at them.'

As he came into the stables, he saw Maud waiting at the door, dagger drawn in anticipation.

He lifted the canvas bag out of her arms and nodded towards his horse. "That's Stranger. He's my horse and a good one - but he bites. Be careful around his face...and his hooves. We'll get you a pony when we can."

 _Stranger._ Maud thought back to her attack by The Mountain. She'd prayed to the Stranger then and Sandor had arrived and saved her.

Her thoughts were disrupted when Sandor suddenly picked her up and boosted her onto the horse. He made to follow her when Maud cried out.

"What?" He said, looking around sharply.

"Sorry. Sorry. It's just - that bow over there. Can I take that?"

Sandor looked where Maud pointed. It was a battered old thing, and there were no arrows to be seen. He said as much.

"I can make arrows. And an old bow is better than no bow."

He snarled and grabbed it, shoving it into Maud's hands. With one last backward glance, he mounted Stranger and clicked his tongue. The horse took off, away from the battle. Away from the fire.

 _Away from King's Landing._


	14. On the ride

_Author's note: sorry this has taken so long, the next chapter will be here sooner and will be a LOT longer. I started a new story (Of honour and desire) that has bern in my head for a while and got stuck into that. If you're a Sandor fan, please have a read and let me know what you think!_

* * *

Maud's thighs ached. It had been months since she'd ridden a horse and now she was constantly on one, only clambering off to eat or sleep. Despite this, Maud has happy. She finally had fresh air and a change of scenery, so refused to complain. Much.

Four days had passed since they had left King's Landing and Maud still had no clue where they were headed. Every time she asked, Sandor just replied "Away from here," which, while accurate, was not very helpful.

They'd settled into a routine: Sandor would shake Maud awake at an early hour and the two would share a small breakfast - normally leftover cold meat. Maud would fill a skin with water in a nearby river (and have a quick wash) while Sandor fed Stranger and got him ready for the day's ride. Maud was now getting more comfortable climbing up onto the large horse, scooting back so that Sandor could sit in front of her. On the first night of riding she'd found she had clutched tightly to the man, the cold steel of the armour against her fingertips. But now she was getting used to riding with someone else, and was holding on mainly with her thighs, only occasionally resting a hand on his back or shoulder if there was a change in terrain.

They tended to only stop if one of them needed to make water, or to buy food, until the sky fell too dark to see the way. Sandor would mutter softly to Stranger as he brushed the horse down with hay as a cool down, while Maud built and lit a fire. She loved building the fire near enough so she could hear Sandor being so gentle with the horse: the pair of them giants with a bad attitude but softies underneath.

Sandor had hardly spoken to her since they'd fled the capital, apart from grunted instructions. He refused to answer when she asked about the battle and stayed quiet around the fire while Maud fletched arrows and shaped bone into arrowheads. Despite being pressed against each other on a horse each day there had been very little physical contact either: when Sandor laid down to sleep it wasn't even beside her.

 _Enough_ , she though on the fifth day of riding. She hadn't decided whether she wanted to stay with him, or whether she would leave. Her family may be dead but she still had friends who she could join, including the man who taught her to make arrows in the first place. But if Sandor kept ignoring her, there was no doubt she would leave. One more chance, she decided. If he wouldn't let her in, or even have a conversation with her today, she'd go.

That night over a dinner of squirrels she'd shot, Maud looked across the fire to Sandor. She saw the light dance across his eyes in firelight, the juice from the meat running down his beard. _I want to lick it away_ , she thought suddenly. She'd given up wondering why she was attracted to the older man but she wouldn't follow him blindly because of a crush.

"Is the meat cooked enough?" She asked. A grunt came in reply.

"Squirrel is better than chicken, don't you think?" was the next question. She expected a response to this, but again there was just a grunt, albeit a disgruntled one.

"Oh, for _fuck's sake!_ " Maud exclaimed. "If insulting chicken won't make you talk I don't know what to do. I understand that the battle was awful and that there was fire and burning and death. But you survived. You got out. So bloody talk to me!"

"What the fuck do you want me to say?" Sandor growled. "There were people screaming on fire. I killed people. I left the battle and that cunt of a king. And now I'm riding non stop with no fucking ale to be a sell sword just like that fucking ginger cunt."

Maud didn't know what to say. She'd been too busy thinking about herself and what she was doing to remember that he had given up his life. He'd been a Lannister sworn sword for years, fighting for them since he was 12 years old.

"I'm sorry," she muttered.

He grunted and went back to eating in silence. But that night when she lay down to sleep, he came and lay down beside her, his hand brushing against hers. Gently, cautiously, Maud intertwined her fingers with his.

"Tomorrow, we'll find a tavern and get you some wine, or ale," she promised, resting her head against the armour on his shoulder.


	15. At the inn

The next day, Maud kept her promise.

Her stomach was in knots as soon as they spotted an inn in the distance. In her head, the second they opened the door dozens of men would look up at the large man, recognise him and try to kill him for desertion.

What she should have realised (and which Sandor clearly knew) was that regular people didn't actually give a shit about most politics or battles. Maybe in King's Landing or in the regions where the fighting took place, but here there was more thought into local affairs.

The innkeeper was clearly taken aback by Sandor's size when the two entered, but if he had anything to say he held it in and gave over two huge frothing mugs of ale. Also unlike Maud had presumed, the place was fairly empty: most of the locals were working. They'd be in later for food, drink and gossip, but as it was the place was empty.

"Travelling far?" The innkeeper questioned as Sandor finished his drink.

He grunted, holding the cup up for a refill.

"At least another few days," Maud replied politely. Even if there were no men with pitchforks it was best to stay civil and not leave any clues behind. "My, eh, brother and I are visiting relations."

"Highgarden or Casterly Rock?" The man asked, sloshing more ale into Sandor's cup.

"Casterly Rock," Sandor responded.

It took Maud a second to realise what he was up to. And then a further second to realise they actually had very few options where they could go. King's Landing was out, as was the Baratheon homeland of Storm's End. Casterly Rock was Lannister land and to be avoided. The North and the Eyrie were Stark lands and they probably wouldn't take kindly to a Lannister man, even if he had left them. The Riverlands were home to both the Tullys at Riverrun, and Gregor Clegane at Harrenhal - neither of which could be considered an ally.

"True that at Lannisport and Casterly Rock the streets are lined with gold?" The innkeeper asked.

Maud laughed as she sipped her ale. "We'll let you know on our way back."

* * *

Sandor seemed happier that afternoon with some drink in his belly. He even acquiesced to stay at the inn for dinner and both were pleased to have food that wasn't caught, skinned and cooked over a campfire. Maud never thought she would be so happy to see fish stew.

The only problem was the rate at which he was able to get through the ale. She wasn't brilliant at numbers, but they seemed to have gone through at least a fifth of Sandor's money in the space of an afternoon. People had come and gone and the innkeeper and his wife were making definite noises about wanting to lock up, not that Sandor seemed to notice. He was bellowing again for another drink, and hardly seemed any worse for wear. Maud, on the other hand, was yawning uncontrollably.

"Come, _brother,_ " she said, stifling yet another yawn, "We should retire and let these good people rest. There will be more ale in the morning."

"Aye," Sandor said. He stood up, and stumbled. He looked surprised, and then down at the floor as if accusing it of moving.

He leaned on Maud, who winced under his weight.

The innkeeper's wife noticed and looked at her sympathetically. Over the years she'd seen a lot of females given the job of dragging their male loved ones home - but few of them were six foot tall brutes.

"You can stay here," she said. She gave her husband the evil eye before he could speak up "We've a free room. Just the one - so you can decide whether you want to stay outside yourself or bide with your brother."

She gave Maud a calculating look. There was no way that giant was related to her. The innkeeper's wife assumed they were lovers that shouldn't be together. She had looked for wedding rings but hadn't seen any, but there must be some story.

"That would be amazing," Maud thanked the woman profusely.

* * *

Sandor woke with a start, surprised to find himself on a straw mattress instead of a bed of grass.

He turned over and shook Maud roughly by the shoulder. She blinked sleepily up at him. "Morning," she croaked.

"Where the fuck are we?" He asked bluntly.

"Still at the inn. You were drunk, I couldn't move you."

He grunted. He couldn't claim he was upset to have a softer bed after a week of sleeping on the ground and constantly being alert.

Another thought occurred to him and he felt his cock twitch. His face must have twitched too in some way, because Maud looked at him, confused.

"What?" She asked. Then again, when he didn't respond, " _What?"_

"Nothing," Sandor responded, but he smirked despite himself, then winced as her fists rained blows on his chest. They didn't hurt, not really, but he was too tired to deal with it.

"Fine. Fine! I was just thinking you made me a promise before the battle."

 _A promise?_ Maud tried to think back to a week before. She remembered telling him to come back, and kissing him, but what promise did she make? Sandor could tell the second she remembered, as a flush broke out over her cheeks.

" _Come back to me. Come back...and I'll suck your cock again."_ Why had she said that? She must have been crazy...but she couldn't deny the flutter in her stomach.

"You've ignored me and hardly spoken to me in a week, and now you want me to suck your cock? At least kiss a girl first!" Her fists pummelled his chest again and Sandor let out a throaty laugh in response, throwing his hands in the air.

"The fuck you expect? Honeyed words and flowers? I waited until we had a fucking private room and didn't get you on your knees in the middle of a valley where any passing traveller could gawp - that makes me better than half the cunts who call themselves knights."

He laughed again at her indignant face...but then another memory came to him. Her in the bath, gasping softly as she touched herself. It had been more erotic than all the whores with their fake moans and practiced moves combined. "I'll give you a choice then," Sandor said, a touch of hesitation to his voice. "You suck my cock...or you let me watch as you touch yourself."

Maud didn't know it was possible to blush as much as she did just then - it felt as if her entire body turned red. How to decide? She'd sucked him before, just a few weeks ago, so she knew what to expect. And yet she felt strangely aroused at the thought of touching herself in front of him. It had been over a month since she had touched herself, in the bath when Sandor was asleep, and she flushed again as she remembered it had been him she had thought of. They hadn't even kissed at that point.

"You choose," she whispered.

* * *

 _I'm sorry this has taken so long. Things happened in my personal life that meant writing wasn't possible. To make it up to you, you get to choose - what is Sandor's response?_


	16. The choice

_Thank you SO much to everyone for being so understanding and to magnus374, Hi-Carl-394, Rasha007 and firstofhername for leaving their suggestions! You all asked for Sandor to make the same choice, so I hope you enjoy this chapter. it is, undoubtedly, pure smut, so best not read in a public place..._

* * *

You choose," she whispered again, her tongue flicking out to lick her lower lip.

Sandor's cock twitched. With just three words he could have those lips wrapped around him. And yet…

"Take your clothes off," he demanded.

Maud blinked. Was that a 'take your clothes off and suck my cock' or 'take your clothes off and touch yourself'?

"Well?" Sandor prompted, a hint of frustration in his voice. With trembling fingers, she reached down to lift the thin material of her shift and pulled it over her head. "Good girl," he praised with a rumble, his eyes scanning her upper body. Unexpectedly, Maud felt a tingle at the compliment, and squeezed her thighs together under the sheet.

She squeaked slightly as Sandor grabbed the sheet and made to pull it off her. Maud tugged back to cover herself but relented under his stare, leaving her full body exposed to his gaze. She'd been naked in front of him before, but never like this: with his eyes hungry on her body.

It was the first time he'd let himself look at her — _really_ look — and Sandor took full advantage of her nakedness. His eyes traveled from her flushed face to her breasts, where her nipples were pebbling (was it the cold or excitement that had caused them to harden? He wasn't sure), down her stomach and hips to the thicket of dark hair below. It had been an age since he'd seen a bushy cunt: the whores were normally shaved or had sleek, oiled triangles. Not that it mattered, a cunt was a cunt and decorations didn't matter.

After a few seconds Maud shyly moved her hands to cover herself, but Sandor's large hand caught her by the wrist. Instead of her hand being placed to hide his view of her delicate area, it was now manoeuvred to the side so her fingers were touching her delicate folds. Maud hadn't thought it possible to blush anymore until she felt the dampness on her fingers from her own sex, and realised that Sandor's hand on top of her own must have felt the same wetness.

It had - _he_ had - and he ground his teeth at the sensation. "Touch yourself," he whispered, his hand letting go of hers and reaching to undo the laces of his breeches, which were feeling uncomfortably tight.

Maud froze. She had touched herself before in private, but never with an audience. She knew what she liked, how her body reacted, but was he expecting something different? Was there a special lady-like way to do it? _Fuck it_ , she decided. The worst he could surely do was tell her to stop and suck his cock instead.

She closed her eyes tightly. She lifted the hand not already down at her folds to her breasts, gently rubbing one nipple, then the other between her thumb and forefinger. With the other hand she ran her fingers up from her pussy, until her forefinger rested on her sensitive nub. Biting back a gasp she began to draw tiny circles over the sensitive skin.

Sandor swore inwardly at the sight, as he grasped his cock. Hearing her in the bath had been one thing but now, naked and gasping and that slickness before she'd even _started_ \- _Gods help him._ It was taking all his self control not to just fucking pounce on her and make her his.

Eyes still closed, Maud knew nothing of this. Her left hand slid down her body and began taking over the ministrations of her clit, while her right hand moved back the moistened folds. Sensations had taken over and she'd forgotten where she was, that she was being watched. In her fantasy, she was a lady and Sandor Clegane of the Kingsguard had taken her aside at a gala to woo her. As she imagined him kissing her neck and crooning obscenities into her ear (well, he wouldn't say poems or sweet praise, would he?) she slipped one finger into the wet vice of her lips, her back arching back at the sensation. Maud's breath caught in her throat as she imagined Sandor pinning her to the wall with one muscular arm, while the other hand crept under her dress and did things no lady would ask for.

She choked back a moan as inserted a second finger and imagined it was his. Part of her brain was screaming at her - _he's right there, take charge and put his hand on you_ \- but she shut it out. As much as she could fantasise about him taking her in a manly fashion, she knew she was just entertainment. She wouldn't let her virginity go that easily. It was all she had left. So she'd touch herself and suck his cock and keep her thoughts to herself.

With her eyes closed, as Maud continued to impale herself on her fingers, she didn't see Sandor stroke his cock as he watched her. The smell of her arousal filled the air and he wondered what she tasted like. His hand gripped his cock tighter as he took in her flushed cheeks and arched back, and the soft moans coming from her mouth.

 _Enough_ , he decided as her breaths turned into tiny pants. _Fucking enough_. His self control was at the breaking point. He swung out of bed fast for a man his size and stood over Maud's body, admiring his new vantage point.

Her eyes flickered open at his movement and she saw him standing at the end of the bed, before he hunkered down into a squat. Silently, he reached to tug her legs apart further and she flushed more than she thought possible as she imagined his view. Embarrassed, she pulled her fingers out from her pussy. His eyes stared at her with an intensity she hadn't seen before, before his head ducked fully between her legs.

"What are you — _oh!"_ Maud squealed, as her question was answered with an experimental lick. Her hand knitted itself in the sheet as Sandor's tongue nudged it's way between her delicate folds, his beard tickling her thighs. " _Oh!"_ She sighed again as the tongue became more intense, and his nose brushed against her nub.

His big hand gripped at the flesh of her hip as he licked and sucked and devoured. He'd never done this before, had scoffed at men who'd talked about it, but there was something exciting about having his mouth over her cunt. She tasted like marzipan and sour cherries. Experimentally, he stuck a finger into her and savoured the feel of wet warmth around him. She gasped and instinctively raised her hips to give him better access. He imagined what it would be like to sheath his cock between those tight walls, and spilled his seed on the floor with a roar. Before he even finished, he pushed his mouth back against her, nipping the delicate flesh of her clit until she shuddered.

Maud had to bite her lip shut from calling his name as he shoved a second finger inside her and pounded her until she came around his fingers.


	17. Anguy

The room smelled like sweat and sex when the pair left to go downstairs half an hour later.

After she'd recovered from her climax, Maud had shyly offered to do the same for Sandor. He didn't say no. He was pleased that he lasted longer this time, curling his hands in her hair as her mouth pleasured him. The wet warmth of her mouth wasn't an exact match for her tight pussy but it was good enough.

Sated, they went downstairs for substance and enjoyed a bowl of rabbit pie.

"Should we stay here for a few days?" Maud suggested between mouthfuls of tender meat. She savoured the taste: it was a lot more flavoursome than the salty substance she had swallowed less than ten minutes before.

Sandor grunted a response, as he shoved food in his mouth like a starving man.

"We can use this as a base, get money and then go away, maybe across the sea?"

Another grunt, as he reached for a tankard and downed the contents.

 _You'd think someone who just got his cock sucked would be in a better mood,_ Maud huffed to herself. She wasn't expecting him to have ditched his armour and skip down the hall, but a smile and decent conversation wouldn't go amiss.

"What was your plan? You know, when you left?" She asked, to try to get some dialogue.

No grunt this time, but a glare. "Not here. We don't want the whole fucking inn knowing our business."

Maud gestured to the air around her. "There's no one here. The innkeeper is in the back and his wife is doing the laundry, remember?"

"You must not have spent enough time in King's Landing. There are ears everywhere."

Maud stood up angrily, and flounced back off to the room.

"The fuck are you doing now?" Sandor called after her.

"I'm going to go hunting. When I get back you can let me know if we're staying or going," she called over her shoulder.

* * *

Maud knew she had no reason to get so frustrated with Sandor but _Gods_ , if he wasn't a frustrating person. She knew they weren't in a relationship but over the past few months she had begun to enjoy his company - was she so very wrong to expect him to tell her basic information like where he was going? At the moment she was happy to follow him (especially if he kept doing that thing with his tongue) but she wasn't sure if his plans included her, and she wanted to be prepared. What if they got to a harbour and he jumped on a ship, leaving her behind? She wanted to know what her future held.

She took out her anger on the wildlife, collecting enough rabbits to make a decent stew and potentially even a nice pelt. If when she returned to the inn Sandor decided they were moving on, she would have food for dinner, and if he decided they were staying then they'd make a good present to the innkeeper.

She took her time, picking up feathers and wood to fletch more arrows. Part of her, a part she was not proud of, wanted to make the big man miss her. The other part was enjoying the peace and quiet - the first time she had been by herself in over a week.

Wandering in the early evening she heard a whistled tune and the laughter of men. Maud's heart fluttered as she looked for somewhere to hide. What if it was Lannister men? She darted behind some trees, ditching the rabbits, and prayed she was hidden enough.

Her prayers were not answered.

An arrow shot through the leaves of the nearest tree. "That was a warning. Come out or the next arrow goes through your neck," a voice warned.

Her own arrow nooked and ready to fire, Maud moved out of her hiding place...then promptly dropped her bow to the ground. " _Anguy?"_

The man with the bow let his weapon fall. "Maud? I'd heard you died. Horace and Jonython - "

"They are dead," Maud told her brother's childhood friend, gently. "But I survived. And now I'm here. But what of you?"

"I'm part of the Brotherhood without Banners," he said proudly, gesturing to the company who had stopped to listen to the exchange. As well as a clump of men there were three boys who looked to be mid teens - wait...was one of them a _girl?_

"We'll be fine," Anguy said to a balding ginger man.. "Maud's an old friend. You head along and I'll catch up."

Ginger nodded, and the majority of the men (and the teens) followed him as they trampled on. A few men took the opportunity to stop for a piss nearby, and Maud suspected they were listening in. Sandor was right - there _were_ ears everywhere.

"What's the Brotherhood without Banners?" Maud asked. It was surreal to see Anguy again - the man who taught her how to make arrows and fire a bow. He had been the best archer in the Stormlands, and was one of the few boys who hadn't scoffed when Maud wanted to learn to defend herself following her father's death.

"A group of likeminded folk who've had enough of various Houses destroying Westeros. Houses like the Lannisters. You have more reason than most to hate them, if the rumours of your brothers deaths are true. Will you join us?"

"It's tempting," Maud said. "But I'm not here alone. I'm with...a friend. He helped get me out of King's Landing. I don't suppose you'd like two fighters?"

"We can always use more muscle against the damned Clegane and Lannister scum!" Anguy replied cheerfully.

"They're not all bad," Maud said without thinking.

Anguy's eyes narrowed. "The Lannisters are all scum to the bone. But we're not hurting babies, if that's what you mean. We're not child-killers like the Cleganes."

"The Mountain," she corrected. "The Mountain killed my father and all those children."

"And his brother is just as bad. C'mon, Maud. I knew Horace's plan. Just because you couldn't kill the Hound then doesn't mean he doesn't deserve to die, if that's what the Lord of Light wants."

"You're right," Maud blustered, ignoring the mention of the Lord of Light. Since when had Anguy been religious? "I'll go speak to my, eh, friend. If we do want to join, where can I meet you?"

Anguy smiled. "A tavern about 15 miles that way. The Crossroads Inn, it's called. Come find us. Be with family, Maud."

The pair embraced tightly, before Maud began to hurry off back in the rough direction of the inn her and Sandor were staying at. She had to warn him.

Once she was out of earshot, Anguy whistled to the few brothers-at-arms who were waiting for him. "Seems like I might have a lead on the Hound."

* * *

Sandor angrily gulped down another tankard of ale and motioned to the innkeeper to refill it.

That girl was so frustrating! You'd think a good cunt-licking would shut her up for an hour or so. And yet she'd stormed off because he didn't want to tell her his plans in public. Varys and Baelish had spies everywhere, didn't she know that by now?

He waited for four hours, growing drunker and more impatient with each passing minute. When the skies began to darken and the inn fill up with workers coming off their shifts, he decided to take matters into his own hands. After one more drink…

Two more hours and six drinks later, Sandor stumbled out the inn. Maud had no horse, so she couldn't have gone too far. Still, he saddled Stranger and made his way towards the woodlands.

He searched silently for an age, until the drink reached his bladder. Clicking his tongue at Stranger to stop, he slid off the big beast and went to relieve himself against a tree.

Was that a rustle in the bushes? Sandor turned, hand on his sword hilt. He saw nothing. Warily, he looked around silently for a few minutes. The only noise was Stranger nickering restlessly.

Sandor made to move to the big horse but stumbled, cursing under his breath. Why did he always feel drunker after a piss?

With a final wary look around, he sat on the ground with his back to a tree, deliberately not the one he had pissed against. He'd wait there for Maud, he decided. And he most definitely wouldn't fall asleep...

* * *

It was darker than Maud had expected when she finally reached the inn, desperate to find Sandor and tell him about the Brotherhood. She expected an angry Sandor to be waiting for her, with several tankards in front of him. She prepared herself for his foul temper, but was surprised to not see the man at the tables.

"Have you seen San - eh - my brother?" She asked the innkeeper's wife as she passed by.

"He was here a few hours ago, but stormed off in a bit of a mood, duckie." Maud's face must have fallen, because the woman quickly added "I'm sure he'll be back soon!" _Brother, my eye-tooth_ , she thought to herself as her guest nodded and made her way upstairs after requesting another night's lodgings. If her and that hulk of a man weren't having an affair, the sun wasn't gold.

As soon as she got to the room, Maud began at pack up the small belongings they had. They needed to leave, to go in the opposite direction of the Brotherhood as quickly as possible.

* * *

When Sandor awoke he was trussed up like a chicken, with his arms pinned tight to his body and a musty hood over his head. When he found he couldn't move his arms to loosen the ropes, he growled in frustration. _Fucks sake._

"He's awake!" A voice jeered.

"Aye, and you'd fucking better untie me before I rip you limb from fucking limb," Sandor growled in reply.

"Seems you'd have more luck tearing me limb from limb if I untie you...so you'll forgive me if I leave you as is," the voice laughed as Sandor felt various hands grab him and pull him to his feet.

Behind him, he could hear Stranger huff in frustration. At least his horse was alright.

"Now _walk_ , or we'll get you a pretty little leash, _Hound."_

* * *

"Hey, hey!" Sandor heard the man holding him call, as he was pushed into what smelled like an inn.

 _Maud,_ he thought as men cheer. _Is this the inn we're staying at? Is she here?_ It felt like they had been walking for hours, but he wasn't sure how far he and Stanger had wandered from the inn last night, and time goes slowly when you've a hood on your head and bad singers as travel companions.

"Now that is an uncommonly large person. How does one manage to subdue such an uncommonly large person?" An amused voice asked his captor.

"One waits for him to drink until he passes out," his captor hooted.

"Poor man. You have my sympathy," came the response from the man, who sounding like he was coming nearer. No sooner had the man finished speaking than Sandor felt the hood being tugged off his head. He glared at the men surrounding him, looking for a way out.

"Aha, not a man at all. A Hound!" The man holding the hood crowed, as the surrounding men howl in jest. "So good to see you again, Clegane."

Wait a second. He knew that ginger cunt. "Thoros? The fuck you doing here?"

"Drinking and talking too much. Same as ever," the man grinned. "A pretty prize, lads!"

Sandor was about to lob a sarcastic reply to the balding asshole when he caught a familiar face out the corner of his eye.

"Girl," he called. The girl froze, then turned to face him. He'd thought she was long dead.

Sandor called to Thoros. "What in seven hells are you doing with the Stark bitch?"

The way the men turned to stare, Sandor realised something with a grin. "Well, well, well, you didn't know!"


	18. Trial by combat

"You think you're good with that bow, you little twat?" Sandor growled to Anguy, as he was pushed along.

"Better than anyone you've ever met," Anguy smirked.

"A coward's weapon. I like to fight up close. I like to see a man's face when I put the steel in him," Sandor responded, trying to goad him.

"Why? So you can kiss him?"

Before Sandor could respond, the little Stark girl barrelled up to him. "You remember the last time you were here?"

He looked around, then shrugged as much as he could within his bindings. "Looks like every other shit inn on the road."

Further conversation was stopped by Anguy shoving a hood over Sandor's head.

"Now, apologies, but you're one ugly fucker and I'd rather not see you no more," Anguy said as the large man was shoved into a cart.

 _Fuck_ , Sandor thought as the cart began to move. _Where the fuck is Maud?_

* * *

Maud had half expected Sandor to be there when she woke up in the morning, but his half of the bed was empty and cold.

She lay awake for several minutes working out what to do next. If he had left for good, decided that he'd had enough of her, then there was no good in her waiting around like a maiden in a fairytale. But what if he'd just got really drunk and was just sleeping it off somewhere?

After washing and dressing, she made her way downstairs to a surprisingly full inn.

"Prayer day," the innkeeper's wife said, as she waltzed past with two full plates. "We're always busiest on prayer days."

"I can help?" Maud offered. "Taking out plates or cooking or something?" Anything to take her mind of what she should do.

The woman eyed her suspiciously. "And in return?"

"Cheaper rate for the room for the next few days?" Maud offered.

The innkeeper's wife nodded an agreement. "Go to the kitchen and give Fred a hand. Do good, and the room's yours for the next three days. Still need to pay for food and drink, mind!"

Maud smiled. "Deal."

* * *

"You stand accused of murder," Beric Dondarrion said gravely, "But no one here knows the truth of the charge, so it is not for us to judge you. Only the Lord of Light may do that now. I sentence you to trial by combat."

Sandor snorted. Trial by combat gave him good bloody odds. "So, who will it be? Should we find out if your fire god really loves you, priest? Or you, archer? What are you worth with a sword in your hand? Or is the little girl the bravest one here?" He cast a glance to the angry Stark girl.

"Aye. She might be. But it's me you'll fight," Dondarrion said.

The ginger ponce looked into the fire. "Lord, cast your light upon us," he intoned. _Oh great_ , Sandor thought. _Prayers._

Anguy untied the ropes around Sandor and he pushed his shoulders back, limbering up. Dondarrion was a damn good fighter, even if he was down to just one eye - no point being cocky.

"Show us the truth. Strike this man down if he is guilty. Give strength to his sword if he is true. Lord of Light, give us wisdom. For the night is dark and full of terrors," Thoros continued, as the other men bleeted back lines.

Sandor gladly took his sword while Dondarrion knelt before Thoros and let the priest cut his hand open before taking his own sword. The one eyed knight slid the blade across the open wound and the weapon erupted in flame.

 _What the fuck_? He knew Thoros used to have a sword he coated in wildfire - fucking wildfire! - but Dondarrion's sword lit as if by magic. Bastarding fire.

Sandor and Dondarrion both picked up their shields and circled each other, ready for battle. The knight had the first advantage, with the flames putting fear in the eyes of Sandor, but the taller man found his rhythm and the battle became more even, swords clanging as the brothers in the cave shouted.

Dondarrion dodged a blow, shouldering Sandor away in a move that made the man stumble into a fire, sparks erupting. _Fucking fire!_ Sandor roared, charging, but loose ground made him fall to his knees. With a grunt he regained his footing and attacked harder, shattering the knight's shield. Dondarrion stumbled, but had enough sense not to let that stop his attack. With no shield, he grabbed his sword with both hands, using wider swings that pushed Sandor back and set his shield ablaze. _No!_

"Guilty. Guilty. Guilty. Guilty!" The Brotherhood's chant riles Sandor as he counter attacks, trying to douse his shield. He can hear the little Stark girl baying for his blood. _Not today, little wolf_ , he thinks sourly, elbowing Dondarrion in the gut. The knight stumbles backwards.

With all of his might, Sandor unleashes an overhead swing. The knight attempts to block the move with his flaming sword, but the blow breaks the fiery blade and cleaves deeply into the man's shoulder and torso.

Sandor allows himself a moment's relief as the knight rolls onto the floor, dead, waiting to see if anyone would rush at him.

"Lord, cast your light upon this man, your servant. Bring him back from death and darkness. His flame has been extinguished. Restore it," Thoros entoned, dropping to his knees in front of the dead knight.

Sandor fell to the ground, smashing his shield to the ground, trying to stop the flames. He breathed deep. He'd survived. Out the corner of his eye he saw the little girl run at him, knife in hand, and prepared to add another to his list of the dead. Thankfully for both of them, the dark haired boy stopped her.

"Looks like their god likes me more than your butcher's boy," Sandor taunted.

"Burn in hell!" She screamed.

"He will. But not today." Came the voice of Beric Dondarrion.

Sandor turned in shock to see the knight alive, sitting by the fire with a bitter look on his face. _Shit_.

* * *

"I want my gold," Sandor snarled.

"It says it clearly right there on that note you'll be repaid in full when the war is over," Thoros said, as if speaking to a child.

"Piss on that! You're nothing but thieves." He threw down the note.

"We're outlaws. Outlaws steal. You're lucky we didn't kill you," the archer piped up.

"Come try it, archer. I'll shove those arrows up your ass," Sandor retorted, making to walk towards the other man.

"Go in peace, Sandor Clegane. The Lord of Light isn't done with you yet." Dondarrion said, over the indignant cries of the Stark girl.

A man placed a hood over Sandor's head and lead him out of the cave.

Sandor was delighted to see Stranger tied up outside, not looking any worse for wear. "At least they didn't take you," he said to the horse, giving him a pat.

"We would've, but he bites," a voice called. That bloody archer again.

"Fuck off," Sandor growled, hand moving automatically to his sword.

Anguy put his hands up in the air in an innocent gesture, but the smug look on his face said something very different. "Happy travels, Clegane. And tell Maud thank you for helping us capture you."

"The fuck did you say?"

"What? You thought we just happened to come across you? Your lovely travelling companion helped us."

"Bullshit."

"If it's not true, how'd I know her name? Who do you think taught her how to use a bow? I taught her everything she knows."

"That explains why she is such a shite shot then," Sandor grumbled, pulling himself up upon Stranger and riding away without a backward glance.

Was it true? He didn't want to think Maud had something to do with his capture but how else would Anguy know they were travelling together? He swore to himself. _This is what happens when you let a girl close_.

* * *

It had been three days and Sandor hadn't shown up at the inn. Maud wasn't sure if she should be worried or angry. If he had been caught by the Brotherhood, should she go after them? Anguy had said where they would be. But what if he had just decided to leave? If she walked into their lair demanding Sandor back, only to find out he had not been taken and had actually just left her, she could end up causing a hunt on his tail.

But enough was enough. Maud refused to sit around waiting for Sandor to show up. That's why she was now marching through the Riverlands woods towards the Crossroads Inn.

Part of her was disappointed when she saw neither Sandor or Anguy when she arrived at the inn seven hours later, her satchel stuffed with berries and dead birds she had hunted on the way.

She ordered a drink, then realised she recognised the fat boy bringing out food to a nearby table.

"You!" Maud called. "You're with the Brotherhood without Banners?"

"Well, I was. Sort of. See, they met me and my friends and they offered us food so we went with them. My friends are still with them but I stayed here."

 _More information than I expected_ , Maud thought. "So, they're not here any more?"

The fat boy shrugged. "Some of them will be back. They don't stay too far away, I don't think. Some of them are here quite often. My cooking helps," he bragged. His face suddenly dropped. "Why are you asking?"

"My friend said I could meet him here. Brown hair, bit of a beard...archer? Name of Anguy?"

The fat boy smiled. "I know him. Give him a few hours, he'll be here. D'you want some pie while you wait?"

* * *

Arya ran through the woods. _Bloody Brotherhood,_ she swore as crouched to hide, looking back at the Brotherhood's torches. With a last look backwards, she stood to run again, not seeing Sandor until his arms had grabbed her tightly. Furious, she lashed out with her legs.

"Kick all you like, wolf girl. Won't do you no good."

He carried her off into the darkness. Time to make a pretty coin ransoming her to her brother.

* * *

Anguy's face was stormy as he walked into the Crossroads Inn. There was no sign of the Stark girl, which meant they'd lost out on a goodly ransom. At least they still had the money that Red Priestess had given them for the boy. It had been a shame to lose a blacksmith but the coin made up for it.

"Anguy!"

He was surprised to see Maud waiting for him. "You changed your mind," he smiled.

She nodded. "I was travelling with someone and they, well, I'm by myself now so I thought I'd check if you're still here."

"Good timing, we're heading south - spotted a raiding party and we're off to say hello. You're more than welcome to join, shoot a few arrows into a few Lannisters," he offered.

"Tempting," Maud responded, mind racing. "I'm just - I'm not sure whether I should wait for my travelling companion."

Anguy balled his fists behind his back. _Why was she covering for him? What was going on between the pair?_ When he'd taunted the Hound earlier the man had seemed almost _hurt_ when Anguy claimed Maud was the one who'd turned him in.

"The Hound?" He said, narrowing his eyes at her face as she flushed with shock. "We met up with him the other day - took some of his coin for our cause."

"I'd wager he had some things to say about that," Maud replied. "How - how did you know we were travelling together?"

"It was obvious when we met," Anguy shrugged.

"Oh. And, eh, when did he leave?" Maybe it was just today. Maybe he was on his way back to the other inn now.

"Days ago. He was only with us an hour or so. Then we took his money and he said he was off to get more. Something about going to Essos?" Anguy lied.

Essos. Home of the Second Sons. It made sense - but Maud wished Sandor had come to tell her first. Not that they were friends, but a little common courtesy would have been nice.

"So, will you join the Brotherhood?"

Maud looked up at her childhood friend. Sandor had technically been her captor. It was time to move on. "Yes. I'll come with you. I'll join the Brotherhood."


	19. The years go by

_Author's note: I can only apologise for the delay in this. But the man who attacked me had been caught and pled guilty...and should hopefully be sentenced soon. And that's put me in a good enough place to write again! I hope you enjoy this, and I'll try to have the next chapter up soon._

* * *

 **Several days later…**

 **Round the fire**

Maud ripped the feathers out the pigeon, handing the carcass over to Jon, the self-proclaimed cook of the group.

He accepted the bird with a smile, adding it to the pile beside him as he finished grinding herbs.

Maud had to admit, his food was tasty, at least the little she'd had so far. Her outside cooking experiences had mostly consisted of burnt meat, perhaps with some veg on the side. But Jon had an amazing method of stuffing birds and coating them in a thick covering of mud, which was then cracked off after to leave a fully juicy meal. He'd been the cook at the inn at Mummer's Ford, before the Mountain attacked the town. Although Jon had no fighting experience, he and the rest of the survivors had joined the Brotherhood without Banners.

"Last chance," he said. "Are you _sure_ you don't need me to make you Moon Tea? After today it'll be too late and won't have any effect."

Maud hoped her flushed face would be disguised by the fire's glow. "I'm sure. But thank you."

Lem, the man on her other side, looked at her curiously. "You've been the Hound's plaything for almost a year. How'd you survive something like that and not need Moon Tea?"

"Lem! She doesn't want to talk about it!" Anguy hissed sharply. "Maud, you don't need to tell us what you've been through until you want to."

She grabbed another bird from the small pile at her feet and ripped the feathers out roughly. "He didn't hurt me," she said, eyes glued to the task at hand. Snorts of disbelief echoed from the men around the campfire. "He didn't _rape_ me," she said louder.

"Ah yes, because the Cleganes are known for their kind and caring natures. Did you sit around and braid each other's hair?" Lem snorted.

Maud bit the inside of her cheek. She'd only been with the Brotherhood for a few days, she didn't want to fight and be told to leave, or worse. And yet even though Sandor had left her alone, she wanted to defend him. Who else would? "He's not as bad as his brother," she settled on. "And he's not as bad as Joffrey."

"If there is anyone worse than the Mountain, I don't want to meet them," Beric said, trying to disarm the situation.

"Maybe he's a eunuch?" Lem suggested. "Could explain why he's so angry all the time - and why he didn't rape you."

"To cock-less Clegane," Thoros smirked, raising a skin of wine. Howls of laughter responded.

 _Seven hells_. "He's not a eunuch," Maud muttered.

Lem heard her protest. "How'd you know? Unless...it wasn't rape because you wanted it." His face darkened. "Did you lie with the dog?"

"No!" Maud squeaked, noting the man's hand going to his dagger. "I'm still a maiden. I just, well, as you said, I shared a room with him. He kept his hands to himself but I still saw things."

"And we must apologise in advance for any cocks you see here," Beric said, always the peacemaker. "I can assure you that none of these men will touch you - unless they want to feel the wrath of the Lord of Light - but nor are they eunuchs and are not used to a woman's company in quite some time."

A ghost of a smile flitted on Maud's lips. "I had two brothers, I'll be fine," she replied, passing the fully de-feathered bird in her lap to Jon.

The conversation moved on, but throughout the evening Maud kept catching Anguy look at her as if he was worried.

* * *

 **Several weeks later...**

 **A dead Frey**

"I'll tell you what, though. The hardest thing was getting that wolf's head to stay on the body," the Frey man bragged to his three companions.

Arya slid off Stranger, landing on her feet. Sandor huffed to himself. This girl was turning out to be nothing but trouble. But _shit_ if seeing that wolf's head flopping around on her brother's body wasn't disturbing - even for him.

"I bet there were a thousand men claiming they were the one," his friend scoffed, his mouth full of food.

"It was me. And Malcolm and Talbott. Well, the thing was so heavy, it fell off the first time. Took the skin right with it. What we ended up having to do was hook the needle right under the collarbone. Give it a nice firm mooring and -" The first man stopped when he saw Arya come up. "What do you want?"

"Mind if I keep warm?"

"Fuck off," one of the other Frey men responded.

"But I'm hungry," Arya said, in a little girl voice that Sandor knew not to trust.

"Does fuck off mean something different where you're from?"

"I've got money," Arya offered, taking a silver Braavosi coin from her belt.

The Frey soldier bent down to pick up the coin after Arya dropped it. The girl held him down by the neck and stabbed him repeatedly.

 _Fuck's sake_ , Sandor rolled his eyes as he unsheathed his sword, moving to protect the girl. _She's worse than Maud for getting in trouble_. He shielded Arya as the other three soldiers rose to attack her, punching one of them in the face, then turning his blade to slash a second soldier in the gut. The third soldier made to attack Sandor, but a quick move disarmed him. With a grunt, he dispatched the two living soldiers as the girl watched on from the ground.

Sandor turned to her, danger glinting in his eyes. "Where did you get the knife?"

"From you," she said, holding up the blade.

"Is that the first man you've killed?" He asked, snatching the knife away from her. He was pissed off, but also a little bit impressed.

"The first man," was the response.

"Next time you're going to do something like that, tell me first," he growled, walking to the fire and picking up the soldier's meal. At least he could get some food out of this.

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the girl bend down and pick up the Braavosi coin. "Valar morghulis," she whispered.

* * *

 **Chickens**

"Fuck the king," Sandor snarled.

The chatter in the inn stopped. He enjoyed the silence for a second, taking a deep pull of ale.

"When I heard that Joffrey's dog had tucked tail and run from the Battle of the Blackwater, I didn't believe it. But here you are," the man Arya had called Polliver said.

"Here I am. Bring me one of those chickens."

"You got money to pay for it?"

"You paid for it?" Sandor could feel himself get ready for a fight.

"No," the small fool laughed. "But we're the king's men. So, you got money?"

"Not a penny. I'll still take that chicken."

"Tell you what. We'll trade you. One of our little chickens for one of yours. Give us a go at your friend. Lowell there likes them a bit broken in." The other soldiers chuckled at this and Sandor's hackles went up, even as he noticed Arya freeze. His mind went to his brother, and how he stopped him from raping Maud. Even if he couldn't kill his brother right now, he could take out some of his men.

"You're a talker. Listening to talkers makes me thirsty," Sandor said, grabbing the man's drink and finishing the ale in one gulp. "And hungry. Think I'll take two chickens."

"You don't seem to understand the situation," Polliver replied.

"I understand that if any more words come pouring out of your cunt mouth, I'm gonna have to eat every fucking chicken in this room," Sandor warned.

"You lived your life for the king. You're gonna die for some chickens?"

"Someone is," he responded, staring at the smaller man across the table.

Polliver rose, but before he could attack Sandor flipped the table, knocking the other man over. He used his sword and his fists to fight, grunting as Polliver and another man managed to get him on the ground, kicking him violently. He stabbed blindly with his sword, righting himself before knocking the smaller man to the ground and punching him in the face, before killing another man. A minute later Sandor was on the ground again, a soldier lying on top of him. With all his strength, Sandor wrestled his dagger free with one hand, stabbing the man repeatedly in the face before tossing the body to one side.

He took a second to catch his breath ( _we couldn't eat before the fight? I'm fucking starving)_ and out the corner of his eye he saw Arya stand up from the corner she'd been cowering in. He saw her hit a soldier over his head and take his sword, before stabbing Polliver with it.

"Something wrong with your leg, boy?" She said to Polliver, in a dangerously flat voice.

"What? What do you mean?" The man was as confused as Sandor.

"Can you walk? I've got to carry you?" Sandor decided to ignore Arya's little theatrics and ran his sword through the last of the remaining soldiers.

When he turned back, Arya was removing her thin blade carefully from the man's throat, watching with satisfaction while Polliver choked to death on his own blood.

 _Well_ , Sandor thought. _I deserve some chicken and Wolf Girl deserves a horse._

* * *

 **Several months later…**

 **Lord of Light**

Maud stared into the fire, willing herself to see something in the flames. Five months she'd been with the Brotherhood, and she'd only seen one vision: Sandor looking up at a man hung from the rafters of what looked like a half-built sept. Had he killed the man? Was it someone he was going to kill? Why was he wearing simple clothes instead of his armour? She wasn't sure, and when she mentioned it to Thoros in private, he was not able to provide a meaning. "R'hllor shows what he shows," was the vague response.

"R'hllor who gave us breath, we thank you. R'hllor who gave us day, we thank you," the man called now.

"We thank you for the sun that warms us. We thank you for the stars that watch us. We thank you for our hearths and for our torches, that keep the savage dark at bay," Maud replied instinctively.

She hadn't been asked to change religion, but after a few weeks with the Brotherhood she'd been intrigued by their prayers and had turned to the red haired priest to learn more. The Seven had never helped her, so she thought she'd try her luck with the Lord of Light. If this world truly was hell, and there was the chance of something better, so be it.

She became caught up in her prayers, so much so that she jumped when Anguy gently placed a hand on her shoulder.

"Sorry," he smiled down at where she was kneeling in front of the fire. "Are you ready?"

Maud smiled back, smoothing down her trousers as she stood up. As the only female in the group, it was a lot easier to obtain trousers than a skirt or dress, and Maud found herself enjoying the change. "Ready," she replied.

Anguy passed Maud her bow and a quiver of arrows, and Maud joined the dozens of men around her in checking and readying her weapon. Since the massacre now called the Red Wedding a few months ago, the battle for the throne was all but over. There were rumours about a princess with dragons in Yunkai, but there was no one in Westeros who was standing up to the Lannisters. No one but the Brotherhood. They knew they couldn't win in all-out warfare, so they were using guerilla tactics. Tonight they were going to attack a Lannister outpost that a scout had spotted the day before.

Under the cover of darkness, Anguy took Maud's hand as the group made their way silently towards the enemy camp. She squeezed his fingers. It had only been a few weeks ago that the archer had confessed his feelings for Maud, telling her he'd have done something about it sooner if her brother Horace hadn't told him to stay away. They hadn't done anything much, just a few kisses here and there. It felt different than with Sandor, easier. She hadn't told Anguy about what had happened during her time in captivity, or the feeling she had (or thought she'd had? She wasn't sure any more) for the hulk of a man. In return, Anguy hadn't told Maud that he was the one that captured Sandor, or that he'd insinuated to the man that Maud had turned him in.

As they reached the camp, Maud and Anguy pulled their hands apart in unison. Time to kill some Lannisters.

* * *

 **Several years later…**

 **The green wedding**

Beric knocked the door gently, before peeking his head inside. "Are you ready?" he asked.

Maud checked her reflection in the polished metal mirror, fussing with the fastening on her cloak. "I think so," she smiled.

"Just one last touch," the innkeeper's wife clucked, dashing over. She puffed a pink powder onto Maud's cheeks. Maud tried not to sneeze as some of the powder tickled her nose. "There. Perfect," the older woman decided. She had no daughter of her own, so when she heard why the Brotherhood was camping nearby she'd offered her spare room.

"Thank you," Maud hugged the woman, before taking Beric's arm. " _Now_ I'm ready."

The pair walked in silence out of the inn, Maud's heartbeat pounding in her ears. Beric squeezed her arm as they began to see the flickering flame. "You look beautiful," he said, turning his head so she could see his good eye.

Maud smiled, fingers fidgeting. "I'm strangely nervous," she admitted.

Beric scoffed. "You've slaughtered dozens of Lannisters, yet you're scared of Anguy? He's probably more scared of you."

Maud bit the inside of her lip to stop herself from laughing. "I'll bear that in mind," she smiled as they began to walk through the crowd of Brothers.

Beside the fire stood Anguy and Thoros, both grinning.

Thoros bowed his head at Maud as she pulled up at the other side of the ditch fire. "Who comes here tonight?"

"Beric Dondarrion - I bring Maud of the Brotherhood."

"And who here claims this woman?" Thoros asked.

"I do - Anguy of the Brotherhood." Almost shyly, he took Maud's hand.

"Anguy and Maud: will you share the fire with each other, to warm you when the night is dark and full of terrors?"

"We will," the pair parroted.

The vows continued, with Anguy and Maud muttering their consent.

"With these vows, you become one. Please jump over the ditch fire, shedding your old lives and emerging as one."

Maud gulped as Anguy squeezed her hand. On his nod, they took a running jump over the fire, the flames licking their feet for an instant.

Once they were safely on the other side, Thoros intoned "You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection." With gentle hands, Anguy removed Maud's cloak, draping it on the ground before putting his own cloak over her. She felt his warmth through it like the fire itself.

"May R'hllor bless this union," Thoros grinned.

And with that, Maud was married.

* * *

 **Aftermath**

Sandor's breath was ragged as he lay on the grass, unable to move. He glared in the direction the Wolf Girl has gone in.

He was going to die, he knew. That big bitch in armour had seen to that. His ear throbbed, his leg was clearly broken and he was pretty sure at least one rib was broken, given the pain in his chest.

This wasn't the way he had imagined himself dying. It would be on a bloody battlefield - hopefully after killing his brother. Not being tossed off a hill by a girl playing soldier...all for a child. Sandor grimaced as he spat a dollop of blood. He should have let the bitch take Wolf Girl. With her aunt dead would there have been any chance for a ransom anyway?

Hours passed as Sandor's eyes fluttered closed and memories played across his vision. His brother holding him down against the flames. His first kill. Being named Joffrey's protector back when the boy had been but a baby. Maud as she flew across the room to kiss him. The horrific green flames on the Blackwater.

Feverish, Sandor wasn't sure how long he lay there for. He tried to stand but even with his hulking strength he was unable to move and his attempts became weaker as day turned to night then back again. Flies were beginning to hover over him, drawn to the wound on his neck and his soil. He let out a harsh bark of a laugh as he thought about the poor bastard who would find his body. Would they try to move it? Or leave him there til he rotted? Would they cut off his head and give it to the Lannisters? He hoped not. He never wanted to see a Lannister again, even in death.

A noise cut across his thoughts - a man's voice. _Death,_ Sandor thought. _It's death._ _Fucking finally._ Gratefully, he closed his eyes.


	20. Revenge

He was dead. That thought repeated through Sandor's mind as he stalked through the forest, axe flung over his shoulder.

Fury, like he hadn't felt in a while, pounded through his veins as he marched, hunting for the foul bastards who killed Brother Ray - the man who had found him, had saved his life, had nursed him back to health and given him a new purpose. The sight of Ray's body hanging from the half-finished sept rafters darted through his mind and Sandor ground his teeth. If only the bastarding brother had listened to his warning about those bloody Brotherhood without Banners. Foul, the lot of them. If only Sandor had stayed instead of going to chop wood. If only Ray hadn't buried his bloody sword and armour before Sandor had awoken from his injuries. He could have protected them. If only, if only, if only.

A conversation caught his ear: a bunch of men joking about kissing. With a growl he stalked towards them. As he got closer, he recognised two of the men as having visited the camp - but the smug yellow-cloaked bastard wasn't there.

One of the men was standing, back to Sandor as he fixed his trousers. The other three were facing him, laughing until they saw the hulking figure coming towards them. The trio stood up, causing the young man standing to spin round...right into Sandor's axe. He savoured the sound of the squelch: it had been over a year since he had killed. He turned to the second younger man. He didn't recognise this man from when the Brotherhood originally showed up, but he could have been there for the slaughter. If the Brotherhood had been willing to act as judge, jury and executioner for him just for being a Lannister man, Sandor would be happy to do the same in return for being in the Brotherhood. With a quick swing, he drove the axe into the young man's chest.

The third man, a ginger who Sandor did remember, tried to blind-side him with a knife. Sandor smiled as he spinned round, slicing the man across the throat. As the man gargled on his own blood, Sandor turned his gaze to the remaining man, a middle aged bald man. He had been there. Sandor lunged at him, driving the axe up into the man's groin. The man whimpered, falling to his knees as Sandor ripped the axe away. Roughly, he grabbed the bald man's chin, forcing him to look up.

"Where's the other one? The one with the yellow cloak?" Sandor demanded.

"Fuck you!" The man spat, trying to hold his inners in place.

"Those are your last words, 'fuck you'? Come on, you can do better," Sandor growled.

"Cunt!" Came the response.

"You're shit at dying, you know that?" Sandor said, raising the axe above his head. With a growl, he buried it into the man.

Looked like he'd find the yellow-cloaked cunt himself.

* * *

It was a while later that Sandor heard horses whinnying and the voices of men. He followed the sounds and almost groaned to himself as he came across Beric, Thoros, and other members of the Brotherhood Without Banners. His eyes flicked past them to the three men tied up with nooses around their neck. That one - there - that was the yellow-cloaked bastard!

"What the fuck you doing here?" Thoros asked.

"Chasing them. You?" Sandor responded, shortly.

"Hanging them."

 _Obviously._ "Any particular reason?"

"They're our men. Or they were. They attacked a nearby sept and murdered the villagers. Why do you want them?" Beric cut in.

"Same reason. I was helping build it. They killed a friend of mine."

"You've got friends?" Thoros laughed.

Sandor didn't join in. "Not anymore. They're mine." He brandished his axe at the trio.

Beric and another member of the Brotherhood blocked his path as he stepped forward. "Can't let you do that. It's the Brotherhood's good name they've dragged through the dirt."

"Fuck your name. They're mine. I killed you once before, Dondarrion. Happy to do it again."

One of the Brotherhood members notched an arrow and pointed an arrow at Sandor. The large man glared at him, noticing it wasn't that wank archer that riled him before. "Drop that arrow, you bloody girl," he warned, pointing his ax at the man. "Tougher girls than you have tried to kill me."

"You can have one of them," Beric offers.

Sandor turned back to face him, glanced at the men about to be hanged, then looked back at the one eyed man. "Two," he countered.

Beric nodded his acceptance. Sandor approached one of the men and raised his axe above his head to swing. Thoros caught the axe's handle from behind - and then caught a glare from Sandor.

"We're not butchers. We hang them," Thoros said, releasing Sandor's axe.

"Hanging?" Sandor snorted. "All over in an instant. Where's the punishment in that?"

"They die," the redhead priest said, flatly.

"We all bloody die. Except this one here," Sandor gestured to Beric. "I'll only gut one of them." _That yellow cloak._

"No." Beric responded.

"I'll chop off one hand?" Sandor offered. _The one that hung up Ray._

We gave you two of the three out of respect for your loss. That's generous," Beric replied, his voice a warning.

"Bunch of nancies," Sandor growled, throwing his axe to the ground. "There was a time I'd have killed all seven of you just to gut these three."

"You're getting old, Clegane," Thoros chortled.

"He's not," was the response, as Sandor kicked the box out from underneath one of the men, hanging him. He moved to stand in front of the yellow cloaked man.

"Please don't. I'll give you anything," the man begged. With a look of disgust, Sandor kicked the box away and enjoyed the man's dying gasps for air. As Beric hung the final man, Sandor took the boots off the yellow cloaked man and shoved them on his own feet.

He looked up at Beric and Thiros, who were standing over him. "Got anything to eat?" 

* * *

"Enjoying yourself?" Thoros asked, sitting beside Sandor at the campfire.

"I prefer chicken," Sandor grunted, but tore away another large greasy mouthful of meat anyway.

"You ought to join us. We could use you," Beric said, his eye glittering in the firelight.

"I tried joining. Didn't work out for me."

"Clegane, we're here for a reason. The Lord of Light is keeping Beric alive for a reason. He gave a failed, drunk priest the power to bring him back for a reason. We are part of something larger than ourselves…" Thoros gave his best encouraging speech.

"Lots of horrible shit in this world gets done for something larger than ourselves," was Sandor's response as he stood up for a piss.

"Cold winds are rising in the North." Beric said, his voice gravelly.

"And you're going to go stop them?" Sandor snorted.

"We need good men to help us."

Sandor raised an eyebrow. _Was Beric calling him a good man? "_ Last time you saw me, you wanted to execute me."

"True enough. But the Lord of Light gave you the power to defeat me. Why?"

"I beat you because I'm better than you, Beric. I was better than you before you started yammering on about the Lord and I'm better than you now," Sandor laughed, returning to his spot at the campfire and picking up his dinner.

"Aye, you're probably right," Beric conceded. "You're a fighter. You were born a fighter. You walked away from the fight. How did that go? Good and bad, young and old, the things we're fighting will destroy them all alike. You can still help a lot more than you've harmed Clegane, it's not too late for you. I know you're not all bad. You have a few people who even like you."

Sandor almost choked on a mouthful of meat. "Your Lord tell you that? I've never met anyone who likes me."

Thoros laughed dryly. "You do yourself a disservice, Clegane. In fact, there's someone who likes you not too far away."

"I'm not into that sort of thing," Sandor warned, eyeing the man up. "I'm not the Knight of the fucking Flowers."

Thoros spat a mouthful of water out. "I'm not the one who's fallen for the big bad wolf routine. No. She's out scouting right now but she'll be back soon."

 _Sansa,_ Sandor thought, mouth dry. _The little bird is here._


	21. Reunion

Maud sighed tiredly as she shifted in the grass. She'd been scouting the Lannister tents for a full day, working out their movements for a raid team.

She winced as Grenn, her scouting partner, elbowed her in the ribs. "Don't fall asleep on me," he warned with a smile. She pulled a face and stifled a yawn as she looked down at the troops. They seemed to be on their way to Riverrun, where the Brotherhood has already seen Lannisters and Freys conglomerate.

"There's nothing more to see," she hissed back. "They're going to march to Riverrun in the morning. The Blackfish is gonna die - if he's not dead already. I don't know why Beric won't let us help him."

"We don't fight wars," Grenn reminded her. "There's not enough of us for that. You know what happened last time we tried to fight a battle against them." A glare from Maud told him exactly what he could stick where. "Sorry," he muttered, turning back and staring at the tents so intently that if he was R'hllor the encampment would be in flames.

* * *

The crunch of leaves made the Brotherhood and Sandor aware that someone was nearby. Sandor's hand went automatically to his axe (not for the first time, he missed his sword), even as a chirpy bird noise made the others relax.

"They're back," Beric muttered, almost to himself.

Sandor sat up a little straighter, running a hand over his beard to check for grease - a move that made Thoros snort.

Expectantly, he waited as two scouts appeared - a male and a female. Sandor's eyes skimmed over the pair as he looked for the red-headed Stark. He was so intent on searching for the child ( _who else could Thoros have been talking about?)_ that he didn't notice the female scout stopping dead in her tracks.

"S-Sandor?" She whispered, only just loud enough to be heard.

He turned and realised with a start that he knew this woman. Yes, her hair was shorter, she was wearing trousers instead of a dress and her body was more toned but it was definitely Maud. A wave of emotions flashed over him: he was sad that Sansa wasn't there, happy to see Maud, but at the same time it hit him that Maud had been the one who sold him out to the Brotherhood. He settled on indifference.

 _Of course it's her_ , he grumbled to himself. _Should've known she would have taken up with them as soon as she could._ On the outside, he just grunted and turned back to the fire.

Maud stood there, slightly numb, as she stared at the man. Her captor, her saviour, her...lover? Of all the people she ever expected to see again, Sandor was low on the list. She'd assumed he was in Essos, fighting for coin. So why was he back: and sitting with the Brotherhood?

"Come," Beric said, gently touching Maud's shoulder to wake her from her stupor. She was grateful for the man as her and Grenn followed him, walking away from the hulk of a man hunched over the fire and deliberately facing away.

"So, what did you learn?" Their one-eyed leader asked.

Grenn turned to Maud, but she couldn't quite get any words out. "More Lannisters, and a few Freys. Seems like they're heading to Riverrun," he said.

"Poor Blackfish," Beric said, as Thoros walked over to join the group. "He was a good man, but I can't see him standing long against the might of that army." He shook his head as Thoros offered him a skin of wine.

Maud, on the other hand, took the wine and drank eagerly, to the amusement of the three men.

"Is that really the Hound?" Grenn whispered, awed.

"Aye," Thoros responded, wrestling back the rest of the skin from Maud, "Although I was expecting a bit more of a reunion."

Grenn looked confused for a second (he was not the brains of the Brotherhood) until he realised why Maud was acting unusually. "You _know_ him, Maud?"

Thoros chuckled. "Like a wife knows her man."

Maud came out of her daze at that. "That's a lie and you know it, Thoros! We were...friends. Then he buggered off to Essos without telling me," she explained to Grenn. "So I joined the Brotherhood."

A hollow laugh stopped her from continuing and she twirled round to see Sandor standing there. "That how it happened?" He asked.

Maud felt a chill run through her. She'd forgotten the effect his voice had on her, she realised, as she looked up at him. He had no armour on, which should have made him look smaller, but he still looked like a brute of a man.

"Yes," she said quietly. "I came back to the inn and you were gone. I waited, and when you didn't come back I came to join the Brotherhood."

A snort toldMaud what Sandor thought of the story. "You left the bit where you sold me out to these tosspots and I had to kill Beric here."

Maud and Grenn turned to Beric, eyes wide. He nodded his head in agreement. "Yes, Sandor was involved in a trial. The Lord of Light deemed him innocent. And now he's back and can help us with-"

"You said you took some of his money and he left," Maud squeaked.

"We said nothing," Thoros responded. "Anguy brought him to us and-"

" _Anguy_ brought him?" Maud felt a wave of anger.

Either Maud was a fantastic actress, or she hadn't known, Sandor realised. Which meant… "That cock archer said you told them where I was."

"I didn't," she said quietly. _If Anguy was here right now I'd bloody thrash him_.

Sandor nodded. "Aye, I ken that now." He cracked a tiny smile that brought sunshine to Maud's heart.

* * *

Maud thought she wouldn't be able to sleep that night, but bone-tiredness meant she fell into an uneasy slumber minutes after she lay down. In her dream, she was married to both Anguy and Sandor, and they were arguing over who she would cook for...with each arguing she should cook for the other. She woke up confused and slightly disgruntled.

It was still dark, but Maud was no longer sleepy, so clutching her blanket around her against the chill she joined the two men on watch: Jon the cook and Stuart. The three sat in quiet solidarity until the shift change saw Thoros take over from Stuart. "You go sleep too," Maud offered Jon. He accepted with a nod, leaving Maud alone with the red priest. She had a bone to pick.

As soon as the two men were out of earshot, she glowered at her ginger haired teacher. "Why didn't you tell me that you made Sandor fight? That you told him I handed him over to you? You more than anyone knew what he meant to me!" Her cheeks flushed. Over the years, as Thoros told her more about R'hllor and encouraged her skills, the man had become her friend and her confessor. She may have left out a few key details, but Thoros knew she had cared for the larger man, that he had been good to her and even that she had sucked his cock (she hadn't mentioned that he had returned the favour - that was her private memory). She hadn't shared any of this with Beric, Jon or even Anguy, but she had trusted the unorthodox priest.

"I didn't know the last part," Thoros assured her, throwing his hands up in mercy. He had known this moment would come as soon as that huge lurching soldier stumbled upon them in the woods. "But the fight: Anguy, Lem and some of the other men brought him to us. They found him drunk in the woods - later the day he met you, I believe. He is - was - a Lannister man, so we held a trial for his role in all that had happened. R'hllor took his side, we took some of his money, and he went on his way. I knew nothing of anything else. Then a few days later you showed up and Anguy persuaded us to let you join. Didn't hurt you were handy with a bow."

"But why didn't you tell me?" Maud asked.

The man shrugged. "I didn't think about it. It didn't come up. It didn't matter. Pick one. What happened can't be changed - and what were you going to do about it? Have a fight with Anguy? Maybe storm off? Then you wouldn't be with friends, you still wouldn't know where Clegane was. Let it go Maud."

She wanted to. She really did. But her stomach twisted at the thought he blamed her...that he thought that she had been the one to leave him. _Anguy had known,_ she thought. _That wily little bastard_ \- _he turned us against each other._ Had he thought Sandor might have returned to her otherwise, that she'd stay with him? She had to admit, it would have been easy to stay with the large man.

"He's changed," Thoros said, dragging Maud out of her thoughts. "He's more...open now." She nodded: she'd noticed it too. It wasn't just the lack of armour. There was something different about him. Before he would have told the Brotherhood to fuck off and would have gone on by himself. Even just listening to Beric and staying a night was unlike the man she used to know. She wondered what had happened to him. She vowed to speak to him come the morning.

* * *

When the sun rose and Jon began to make breakfast, Maud wheedled an extra portion for Sandor. The man woke to find Maud sitting beside him, stubbly bowls of porridge in hand. She handed the larger bowl to him wordlessly as he sat up.

The two ate in silence, each looking the other over. Maud saw that he was more tanned, his hair slightly lighter, like he'd spent more time outside. He seemed to have a slight limp, she'd noticed that last night but we definitely favoured one leg as he rose. Then there was the lack of armour and sword. And those clothes...they looked so familiar.

In return, Sandor noticed that Maud's hair was chopped to chin length, accentuating her pointed chin. She looked more toned, like she'd been training.

"So…" Maud broke the silence. "Where did you go?"

"Around," Sandor responded, continuing to shovel porridge in his mouth. "Mostly the Riverlands."

"Same," Maud replied. Absentmindedly, she played with the ring on her left hand, twirling the smooth metal round and round. Sandor saw and his mouth felt suddenly dry. She was married. He felt a twinge. He didn't know why - it wasn't like he had planned on marrying her - but it seemed like her life had gone on fine without him.

"This is going to sound odd," Maud said, haltingly. "Really odd. But I don't suppose you've seen a man hung from the rafters of a half-built sept, have you?"

Sandor wouldn't have been more surprised if she'd revealed Joffrey was part of the Brotherhood. "The fuck did you say?"

"It was a stupid question. Sorry," Maud ducked her head, taking it for a 'no'. But those clothes...she could have sworn that was what he'd been wearing in her vision. She'd only had a few visions over the years but that first one, of Sandor looking up at the hanged man, was one she'd seen over and over.

"Did that ginger cunt put you up to this? Or were you fucking there?" Sandor snarled. _How the fuck did she know?_ He hadn't told anyone about how Ray had died, and he'd cut the man down and buried him before moving on. There was no way she could have known unless she had been there.

"Who's your husband?" he demanded. "Was he one of the men who killed the villagers? _Were you fucking there?"_ He was right in her face now and Maud felt the raw fear she'd not felt since his brother had attacked her. His anger came off him in waves.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she whispered. "I had a vision, that's all. I, I just wanted to see if it was true."

Sandor's laugh sounded like a bark. It hit Maud what Thoros had said: he'd demanded the lives of two of those rogues including bloody Lem, said he knew the killed villagers. That must have been where he had been staying. The poor man.

"She wasn't there," Beric said in his calm voice, coming up with his usual perfect timing. "If she had been, she'd have a rope necklace." Maud gulped. "Pack up, we're heading out."

With a final look at the brute of a man, Maud scurried off. It wasn't until the Brotherhood began to march that Sandor realised he hadn't had an answer about who her husband was.

* * *

 _Author's note: it's the gorgeous Rory McCann's birthday today so felt the need to put this next chapter up!_


	22. The Gravedigger

The further north they went, the colder it got. It was a week since they had set out and Sandor had still not found out who Maud's husband was. In fact, if he didn't know better, he would think Maud had been avoiding him: offering to scout ahead, to take watch, to look after the newly purchased horses.

To be fair, he wasn't much for conversation himself: apart from Maud, only Thoros and Beric were worth conversation, and he was scraping the barrel with them. The others - Jon, Grenn, Luke and a big black bearded fellow Sandor still didn't know the name of - seemed scared of him.

Some emotion must have shown on the giant man's face, making the red priest feel a pang of pity (not that he'd ever let the man know it).

"Bad night to be outdoors." Thoros said, conversationally.

"You've got real powerful magic to figure that out. Did the Lord of Light whisper that in your ear? 'It's snowing, Thoros. It's windy. It's gonna be a cold night.'" Sandor snorted.

"You're a grouchy old bear, aren't you, Clegane?" Thoros smiled. If the man had been in a bad mood he would have told him to fuck off. "You want some rum?" He sloshed the skin of rum towards Sandor.

"Don't like that shit. It's too sweet," came the response.

"Why are you always in such a foul mood?" Thoros was beginning to understand why Maud had been avoiding him. If this was his usual self, how would he take the news the girl he'd once shacked up with married the man who captured him?

"Experience," was Sandor's short answer.

Thoros was stopped from responding by Beric and Maud, who were leading the group, pulling up their horses at a farmhouse.

"This seems like a good place to spend the night," Beric said.

"These people don't want us here," Sandor said. A feeling of dread was coming over him. He knew this place. How?

"Seems deserted to me. No livestock. No smoke coming from the chimney…" Beric urged his horse forward, nearer to the farmhouse. With a look back over her shoulder, Maud followed suit.

"I don't like the look of it," Sandor muttered under his breath, to no one in particular.

Thoros dismounted his horse smoothly. "For a big, hard man, you scare easy."

"I'll tell you what doesn't scare me: bald cocksuckers like you. You think you're fooling anyone with that top knot? Bald cunt."

Thoros smiled. "Come on. Maybe they've got some ale hidden away."

"They don't," Sandor said darkly. He remembered this house now.

* * *

"See if there's a larder. They always leave something behind," Thoros called as he walked into the farmhouse.

Sandor hardly heard him. He was too busy staring at the skeletons in the corner. That man and his daughter. They'd been good people, kind. He'd known they wouldn't survive but he didn't expect he'd have to see their bodies. He was so deep in thought he almost jumped when Maud came up behind him.

"How do you think it ended for them?" She asked, softly. It was the first time she'd spoken to him since he'd accused her of being involved in Ray's murder.

"With death," Sandor replied, shortly. He didn't want to talk about them.

"Girl died in her father's arms. Both of them covered in blood and a knife at their feet. I'd say they were starving. And rather than letting his little girl suffer, he ended it for both of them," Beric said, joining them.

"Doesn't matter now." Sandor said, trying to believe it.

"No, doesn't matter now," Beric replied.

Sandor sat at the wooden table and took a bite out of a hunk of bread as Beric joined him.

"I've known you a long time, Dondarrion," he said around a mouthful.

"Aye. I think the first time we met was at that tournament..." Beric started to reply.

"And I always thought you were dull as dirt." Sandor finished over him. "You're not bad. I don't hate you. Don't like, but you're not bad."

"Thank you, Clegane. That warms the heart." Beric replied. Maud, eavesdropping as she helped Thoros start a fire in the fireplace, smiled.

"But there's nothing special about you."

"You're right about that," Beric admitted.

"So why does the Lord of Light keep bringing you back? I've met better men than you, and they've been hanged from crossbeams, or beheaded, or just shat themselves to death in a field somewhere. None of them came back. So, why you?" Sandor asked.

"You think I don't ask myself that? Every hour of every day? Why am I here? What am I supposed to do? What does the Lord see in me?"

"And?" He'd expected more of an answer.

"I don't know. I don't understand our Lord." Beric said, honestly. "I don't know what He wants from me. I only know that He wants me alive."

"If he's so all-powerful, why doesn't he just tell you what the fuck he wants?" Sandor snorted.

"Clegane," Thoros called from the fireplace. "Come over here. Don't worry. The fire won't bite. I want to show you something."

"It's my fucking luck I end up with a band of fire worshippers," Sandor muttered. Maud's heart leaped for a second. That sentence made it seem he might stay with them for a while.

"Aye. Almost seems like divine justice," Beric responded, wryly.

"There's no divine justice, you dumb cunt. If there was, you'd be dead...and that girl would be alive." Despite that, he stood and moved closer to the fire. "What do you want?"

"Look into the flames," Thoros said, his red hair shining in the light.

"I don't want to look in the damn flames."

"You saw me bring him back from the dead after you cut him down. Don't you want to know what gave me the power?" Thoros teased.

"I keep asking and no one wants to tell me."

"We can't tell you. Only the fire can tell you."

With a huff, Sandor approached the fire and looked into it.

"What do you see?" Thoros asked.

"Logs burning," came the short reply.

"Keep looking. What do you see?" The red priest urged.

Sandor looked - really looked - into the flames. He was about to dismiss them all when an image formed. "Ice. A wall of ice. The Wall," he said, surprised at himself.

"What else?" Maud breathed. It had taken her a while to get her first vision and Sandor saw something his first attempt. This was serious.

"It's where the Wall meets the sea. There's a castle there. There's a mountain. Looks like an arrowhead. The dead are marching past. Thousands of them." Sandor tore his eyes away from the flames, looking up to Beric, Thoros and Maud in slight disbelief.

"Do you believe me now, Clegane? Do you believe we're here for a reason?" Beric said.

Wordlessly, Sandor grabbed the pouch from Thoros and pulled a face as he gulped the sweet rum.

"Fucks sake," he muttered to himself.

* * *

Thoros and Maud woke to the sound of shoveling. The man picked up his sword and a lantern and together the pair quietly left the farmhouse. Whatever they expected to see, it wasn't Sandor digging a grave.

"What the hell are you doing, Clegane?" Thoros asked.

Sandor dug his shovel in the ground. "Burying the dead." He walked over to the small body of the child, picking it up and placing it gently in the hole.

"You knew these people," Maud whispered, hit with the realisation.

"Not really," came the response, as Sandor moved the man's body beside his daughter. Wordlessly, he began shoveling dirt into the hole.

Thoros planted his sword in the ground and handed Maud his lantern, then picked up a shovel and began helping Sandor bury the bodies. When they're finished,

the three stood over the grave.

"We ask the Father to judge us with mercy. We ask the Mother to... Fuck it, I don't remember the rest. I'm sorry you're dead. You deserved better. Both of you." With that, Sandor tossed down his shovel and walked away.

"Aren't you going after him?" Maud asked the priest.

"No - I'm going to stay here and pray for these two souls. You, my dear, are going to go to _that_ soul...and I'm sure that's a much harder job," Thoros grinned.

Shooting Thoros an evil look, Maud took off after the hulking man, her stomach in knots.

"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly as she caught up to him. "If I'd realised you knew the people here I'd have tried to persuade Beric to go elsewhere."

"Doesn't matter," the man shrugged. "Would've been dead whether we came here or not."

"You did a good thing, to bury them," Maud continued. She noticed he'd slowed his speed for her, and was grateful.

"Don't like bodies in the place I sleep," came the reply.

Instinctively, Maud's arm flew out and touched Sandor's forearm. He stopped immediately, almost making Maud trip up. "You don't mean that," she said, trying to ignore the spark of electricity that went through her with that touch. A spark that settled somewhere between her legs. "If you don't want to talk about it, that's fine, but I'm here. If you want me."

Her mouth dry, Maud moved her hand, but Sandor grabbed it, almost without meaning to. "Wait," he said. Inwardly, he marvelled at how small her hand felt in his. "Stay."

Maud nodded. _Stop it,_ she told herself harshly as another frisson shot through her at the feel of those calloused fingers.

"I'll tell you how I knew them...if you tell me about your husband?" Sandor offered.

Maud's stomach turned. "Fine," she whispered. She wasn't looking forward to this…

* * *

 _Author's note: thank you for the reviews! To the guest reviewer who was unhappy about Anguy - don't worry, this is still a Sandor/OFC fic!_


	23. Looking back

It was almost dawn by the time Sandor had finished telling his tale. He'd explained how he was captured by the Brotherhood, taking the young Stark girl captive, the fight that incapacitated him (he left out the fact it was a woman who had done it - he know Thoros would laugh himself sick if he heard), and how Brother Ray has saved his life.

Maud was mostly quiet throughout, asking the odd question but the majority of noise came from her chattering teeth. They'd taken shelter in a half tumbledown shed, sitting with their backs against the wall. As time had gone on, they'd shuffled closer together for warmth, and now Sandor's large left arm was tight against Maud's right arm. It reminded her of when they used to wake up side by side in bed. She wished she'd stayed with him. Things could have been so different.

"Has the cold made you deaf?" Sandor said, breaking Maud out of her stupor.

"What? No! I - what?"

"I said it's your turn," Sandor repeated.

"Right," Maud said, hands suddenly a little sweaty despite the cold. "Well, as you know, the last day we were together I went for a walk-"

"Went off in a huff," Sandor interrupted, under his breath, snorting a laugh as Maud slapped his leg.

"I went for a _walk_ and I came across the Brotherhood. They offered me the chance to join them and I said no. I went back to the inn, but when you hadn't come back a few days later I thought you'd left me. So I found the Brotherhood again. And then four or so years later, you found us again!" Maud ended brightly.

Sandor cocked an incredulous eyebrow "I reckon there is a little more to the story than that, lass," he prodded. "Like, how you got that ring on your finger, for example?"

Maud twiddled a lock of her hair. "Fine. Fine," she said softly. "I went to join the Brotherhood. I knew Anguy from years back, and they offered me a home, and a chance to fight against the Lannisters. So I joined them. The first few weeks I mainly settled in - I told Anguy about what happened to Jonython and Horace, and together we mourned. I didn't have a chance to properly mourn them before, you know?

"Not long after that, I started going on patrols and was allowed to join the guerilla fighting. It felt good to help. As we were both archers, I was with Anguy a lot, and one thing led to another."

"Your husband is that fucking archer twat?" Sandor said in disbelief.

"Was," Maud corrected quietly, spinning the ring on her finger. "I'm a widow."

Sandor's stomach contracted. Was that a twinge of happiness? It felt like it, but he didn't have them often enough to tell for sure.

"What happened?" He asked. He didn't want to ask how long ago - if it was just a few days and she began weeping and wailing he wouldn't know what to do.

"It was about a year ago. We heard that the Karstarks caught young Rickon Stark and handed him over to that monster Ramsay Snow - the Bolton bastard. A lot of the Brotherhood were Stark men originally, so they weren't happy at this."

Sandor nodded. He remembered when Eddard Stark inadvertently set up the Brotherhood, when he ordered Beric Dondarrion to find his brother. Of course Stark men were at the heart of the group.

Maud continued her story - how a group of them wanted to fight in the battle that was going to ensue. Beric had said it wasn't a matter for the Brotherhood, but allowed those who wanted to go to join the North, including the Starks, for the battle. Of the two dozen who left for the battle, only four came off the battlefield - Anguy and Maud among them.

"I was lucky," Maud explained. "I was sheltered for most of the fight. Anguy was in the first line of archers."

"You said he survived?" Sandor checked.

"He did. But he was shot by one of those bastarding Boltons, in his left shoulder."

"Gangrene," Sandor nodded. He'd seen small wounds take men down if it became gangrenous.

But Maud shook her head. "No. It didn't get the chance. The arrow tore through a nerve, he couldn't feel his arm. He wouldn't be able to hold a bow, hold anything, ever again. The choices were to keep it, and never use it, or amputate."

Amputation gone wrong? Sandor winced at the thought.

"Well, I thought those were the only two choices," Maud said, with a bitter laugh. "The next day I woke up and Anguy wasn't there. We went looking for him and found he'd killed himself. Left a bloody note saying he was an archer, and without that he had nothing. I mean, what was I, chopped liver?"

Maud hung her head, embarrassed. She'd loved Anguy - or she thought she had. She still wore his ring, after all. But he'd left her, without a second thought. And that made her angry and humiliated. She couldn't have been much of a wife if he couldn't live with her - and now Sandor knew. Would he hate her?

Sandor didn't know what to say. He didn't know what he'd do if he lost an arm, or a leg, but if he'd had a wife? He'd have stayed. For her.

He cleared his throat, wanting to change the subject. "So. What does the Brotherhood do for fun?"

Maud smiled shyly, and began to tell tales of wild, drunken nights...

* * *

An hour of random chatter passed, both not able to feel their toes but unwilling to give up their time together.

"So what do you see in the fire?" Sandor asked, as Maud explained why she now followed the Lord of Light.

"You," Maud said, with a hint of a smile. "The vision I saw first was you, looking up at a man hanging from a half-built sept. That's why I asked about it the other day."

Sandor nodded slowly. If he hadn't seen something in the flames himself he wouldn't have believed her. As it was - "So you were thinking about me?" He said in a voice that almost sounded teasing.

"I was _worried_ about you," Maud corrected, "Who knew what issues you'd get up to without me to help you?"

Sandor laughed. "Still thinking about me, lass." She punched his arm playfully, and he grabbed her wrist. As she looked into his eyes, he saw a tremor of _something_. "I thought of you, from time to time," he admitted, enjoying the smile that lit up her face at that. "Thought of what a pain in the ass you were," he couldn't help but add, laughing as she squealed and smacked him again.

He caught her arm again, this time tugging her so instead of sitting beside him, she was sitting across his legs. Her face grew serious, searching, as they both considered the same thing.

And then they were kissing. His coarse beard scraped her face, her teeth clanked against his, but neither cared as they took in each other.

They pulled apart, breathless, and gasped for air for a second. Sandor felt like a drowned man - it had been so long. So long since he'd felt another's touch like this.

For Maud it had been a year - long but not as long as it had been for Sandor. And still, it had felt so different: with Anguy it had been brisk, matter-of-fact. Kissing was just perfunctory, a task. With Sandor, it was deeper. It was hungrier. Only half-thinking, she moved so she was straddling the man where he sat, before placing her mouth on his again.

 _Gods_ she felt good as she sat there. Whether deliberate or not, Maud was gently grinding against him as they kissed, and he could feel himself harden at the sensation.

"Careful," he growled, "Keep doing that thing with your hips and I'll take you right here."

Maud's insides melted and she decided there was nothing she wanted more in the world than Sandor inside her, right now. She wanted him to take her, hard, against the wall, to bite his shoulder as he pounded her.

Heart racing, she sent a teasing hand down his chest, before lightly palming his hardness through his trousers. His head tilted back as he groaned and Maud leant in to lick the column of his neck.

"Fuck," Sandor cursed. He was seconds away from turning this tease of a lass round and exacting revenge for this. "You're a bold one," he managed to mutter.

"Aye, she's that," an amused voice interrupted. The pair looked up in shock to see Thoros standing near the tumbledown entrance, a smirk on his face. "We're leaving. Do you two love birds need a minute?"

Maud shot out a few choice terms that Sandor fully agreed with. The mouth on her! She hadn't been that bad when she was in his chambers- the Brotherhood has obviously taught her some new words.

Thoros walked off, cackling with laughter, as Maud slowly got up off Sandor, brushing snow and dirt off her legs.

"Soon," Sandor muttered to her, as he stood up beside her. Her stomach erupted in butterflies.

* * *

 _Author's Note: it's the anniversary of the final episode airing! I was so sad about Sandor (I might have screamed when the Mountain went for his eyes) so thought I'd post something a bit nicer._

 _Also, I know that the Battle of the Bastards happened very shortly before Sandor joined the Brotherhood, not a year before, but I wanted Maud to have had time to grieve so she could move on...say with a gorgeous tall man with a facial scar?_


End file.
